


Give Me Liberty

by marshmallownose



Series: The History Surrounding the Holders of the Miraculous [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Butterfly Miraculous, Multi, Rated T for Violence, all historical events mentioned are true, except for the parts about the miraculous, lots and lots of angst as this story progresses, nooroo is a precious bean, revolutionary war miraculous holder, revolutionary war period, story about the butterfly miraculous inspired by Anthemyst's "The Butterfly and her Brother"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallownose/pseuds/marshmallownose
Summary: On July 7, 1769, 17-year-old Lydia Boyce, quiet supporter of revolution and eldest daughter of British loyalists, Jonas and Henrietta Boyce, happens upon a brooch of incredible potential that could give Lydia the power to help young America on her quest for independence.However, once she takes up the mantle as Monarch (an ironic name chosen if only to spite her country's oppressors), Lydia's world begins to turn upside down in her attempts to create the heroes that would turn the tide of the inevitable war in favor of her country. Allies and enemies greet her at every turn, and the gravity of her position quickly becomes clear: without Monarch, America would not have the power to win the war against Great Britain.But even with the help of Nooroo, her kwami and confident, and her newfound abilities as the wielder of the Butterfly Miraculous, danger lurks around every bend, and the British soldiers would love nothing more than to see her head and, for that matter, wings on a silver platter.Can Lydia soar above the chaos of the war, or will her wings be clipped once and for all?





	1. Entry 1; 1769: The Brooch

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first story for ML, and let me tell you, it's gonna be bumpy. I really shouldn't have started with a story revolving around OCs, but I've been sitting on this for a while, and I had to put it into words. Obviously Lydia Boyce and her family and friends are not real people, but many of the names and faces that will pop up through this story are historical figures you may recognize. I'll be taking a lot of creative license with facts and such, but if there are any glaring errors, please correct me so I might remedy any mistakes that were made. This is rather a long and poorly written author's note, but I figured some things should be explained before beginning.
> 
> Enjoy what I've got here, and get ready for a history lesson!  
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

**ACT 1**

 

_July 7, 1769_

_Boston, Massachusetts_

 

***

 

Warm afternoon sunlight shone throw the windowpanes onto the ruby red, stitched carpet of the drawing room, empty, all but for three young women. Two sat on the piano bench together, the oldest demonstrating a few notes for the younger girl, while the smallest sat on a white chaise with her ankles crossed as she stitched a floral pattern into a circlet of cloth, a comically intense expression contorting her delicate features.

 

The oldest girl brushed a loose piece of brown hair back into place as she gestured for her sister to play back the easy melody she'd just provided. Her bench companion looked apprehensive. The oldest sighed. "Come on, Prudence. You aren't nearly as bad as you believe yourself to be," she said, placing her hand on her younger sister's. Prudence yanked it away in a very unladylike manner, giving her older sister a tired and irritated look.

 

"If I couldn't figure this out two years ago, how am I supposed to play now?" she questioned with a huff, crossing her arms and leaning backward off the piano bench.

 

The eldest rolled her eyes, placing a hand on Prudence's back to give her an unspoken reminder to sit up straight. "You know what they say, 'practice makes perfect.'" It was Prudence's turn to roll her eyes.

 

"Lydia, just as a cat shall  _never_  like the water, I shall  _never_  be able to play the piano well," Prudence stated decisively, starting to get up when a chirping voice could be heard from the direction of the chaise.

 

"Madame Archambeau's tabby loves to bathe in the birdbath she keeps on her property," Hester piped, not looking up from her needling, "so I'm sure you will play _lovely_ , sister."

 

Lydia's shoulders trembled as she laughed, while Prudence scowled at their little sister. However, try as she might, she could not keep the shimmer of amusement out of her eyes. "Okay, okay, you got me. I'll try again—  _only_  one more time, though." Lydia pulled a straight face and nodded seriously, only for a grin to crack the faux-mask.

 

Just as Prudence choppily began to play the tune, their mother's voice drifted from the sleeping quarters, "Lydia, darling, won't you come here for a moment?" Prudence threw up her hands in irritation, light brown hair bouncing along with her abrupt movement.

 

Lydia giggled and stood, smoothing out the crimson material of her dress. She called back to her mother that she would be only a moment before leaning down and kissing her sister's flustered cheek. "You sound lovely, Prue, just as you always do."

 

As she walked through the doorframe, Lydia gave a pointed look to Hester that meant only two things: behave and don't give Prudence a reason to slap her. Hester merely shrugged, the 13-year-old giving her a very cheeky wink in return. Lydia simply sighed, rolling her eyes playfully before making her way towards her mother and father's chambers.

 

***

 

"What is it you need, Mother?" Lydia asked once she was permitted to enter.

 

Henrietta Boyce was pregnant with her fourth child, this one a surprise. Having had her three daughters only a few years apart, another baby on the way 13 years since the last was a pleasant gift from God. Lydia knew that her parents wished for a son, but she and her sisters were much more keen on another sister to primp and coo over.

 

Nevertheless, wether boy or girl, her mother was very pregnant and needed much of the jobs usually taken care of by herself done by either Lydia or one of her other daughters. However, since the sometimes violent, always— in Mrs. Boyce's opinion— frivolous protests over the recent taxes and acts passed by Parliament had begun springing up around Boston and other major colonial cities, Henrietta had been only willing to let her eldest go out to fetch groceries and the like.

 

Her mother sat up in bed, her pregnant belly impossibly large. "My dear, go to Ackerman's General Store, and pick up an order of French bread and tea," instruced the woman. "Be back before three to help prepare supper. Your father will be home around four."

 

Lydia nodded, plucking her mother's money purse from the bedside table. "Rest well, Mother. For you and the baby."

 

***

 

The square in which many of the local shoppes were located was as perusual bustling with activity when Lydia arrived. It was a hot July in the afternoon, in the height of the heat. In her tight dress and undergarments, she felt like she may either die of heat or from suffocation. Either would have been a relief.

 

She shoved her way unceremoniously into Ackerman's, finding the baguette and tea blocks as quickly as she could, ready to find a spot where she might rest in the shade. She waited in the short line that had formed until Lydia was up front making her purchases. Mr. Ackerman himself was at the counter, his crinkled blue eyes smiling warmly at her. "Ah, Miss Boyce! Good day to you," he said inspecting her choices. "How is your mother?"

 

"Good day, Mr. Ackerman. She is well," Lydia answered tightly, wishing she was back at home in her cooler, albeit not much cooler, home.

 

Mr. Ackerman smiled and placed her items in a bag, handing it to her. "Well that is very good to hear. Perhaps you will have a brother to carry your father's name yet."

 

Lydia felt herself slightly bristle. Her father, Jonas Boyce, was known to be a little tense on the subject of his legacy. He wanted the name Boyce passed down for as many generations as possible, but this was not possible if all his children were daughters. When they were married, their names would be changed and the name's legacy cut short. It didn't bother Lydia much, but what Mr. Ackerman had just said was a small slight at her father.

 

She nodded stiffly, taking the offered bag. “Indeed. Good day again, Mr. Ackerman,” she said tersely, turning on her heel and making her way out of the store back out into the blistering sun.

 

She took a different route home, deciding that while it was longer, it was much shadier. She'd passed by a man standing a street corner preaching about the unjust taxes being passed by the British. Many had stopped to listen, and if Lydia hadn't been expected home, she would have as well. Her parents found all the talk of revolution silly; they thought it was treacherous. She supposed in a way it wastreacherous. But Lydia quietly disagreed with their opinion. She wanted to see something happen to change the way Great Britain treated her colonies, wether it be war or simply compromise, she was not partial to either. If only there was some way to help if a war were to occur.

 

Lydia pushed the thoughts away as she passed by small shoppes and houses, Lydia began to feel a small tug at her heart. At first, she barely noticed it, but as the brunette walked further and further down the path, it had practically thrown her off her course, pulling her towards something up ahead. Lydia stop moving abruptly, still clutching her purchases from the general store in her right hand, left hand clinging to her mother's money purse. This was new. Strange and very, very new. Deciding to humor whatever force was guiding her, Lydia continued on her way until she reached a small antique shoppe where the lure seemed to be strongest.  _Monsieur Quincy's Antiques and Second-Hand Shoppe_  read the painted sign above the door. She took a deep breath and enter the store.

 

It was a quaint little space that smelled of wood polish and sweet must. Shelves lined almost all available wall space and rows of tables piled with old trinkets filled the floor. Lydia stepped further in the shoppe, eyes scanning the rows. The mysterious pull was much stronger inside than it was outside, but now it was less urgent. The store seemed to be empty, so Lydia let the force practically drag her along until she reached one of the last tables in the second row. Setting down the coin purse, Lydia, with fingers out-stretched, brushed along the edges of a brooch. In an instant, the pull was gone, instead a warm tingle spreading up her arm at the brooch's touch.

 

It was very pretty, a purple stone of some sort providing the center piece with thinner white stone swooping out in four directions to make a shape similar to a skinny moth or butterfly. Picking it up, she cradled it in the palm of her hand, its weight very comfortable. It was there she decided she had to buy it. Something was screaming at her to do so.

 

She picked up the money purse in the hand with her groceries and turned to find someone to purchase the accessory from only to find someone had found her already. An older man stood looking down on her, wise grey eyes meeting startled brown ones. "May I help you, Mademoiselle?" he asked, a slight accent lacing his words together.

 

Lydia gave a small smile holding up her hand to show whom she assumed was Monsieur Quincy the brooch resting on her palm. "Yes, actually. I'd like to buy this, if I may." The man looked surprised to see the brooch, but the look was gone before it had even come. Then he smiled slightly.

 

"Of course. I'm quite surprised you could even find this treasure in the mess," he commented pulling out a leather bound note book from his coat pocket. How he was even wearing a coat, Lydia couldn't fathom, but she pushed the thought aside. I'm sure he has his reasons, she chastised herself.

 

"Really, if we are being honest, I felt quite the....connection to it when I first saw it. It's quite lovely." Lydia was hesitant with her word choice. She didn't want to sound too odd to this man.

 

Monsieur Quincy seemed to be inspecting her, grey eyes finally flickering back to hers. Lydia was slightly unnerved, taking a small step back. Finally, the old man spoke.

 

"Take it. No charge. Take it, for you have been chosen. Go now, and be wary of those you trust."

 

Before Lydia could open her mouth the say a word, Monsieur Quincy had ushered her out the door and back out onto the hot street leaving a flabbergasted teen at the door. She recovered from her daze, moving to go back inside and ask what had just happened, but she heard the decisive click of a lock sound on the other side of the door. Blinking, she looked down at the pale brooch in her hand, pondering what the man had meant by "you have been chosen." Still going over the events of the past minute and a half in her mind, she placed the antique in the pocket of her petticoat.

 

With on last curious look at the shoppe, Lydia made her way back home, dismissing the oddity of the situation as simply a trick of the heat. She began to hurry back, realizing if she didn't hurry, her mother would be livid. Lydia knew her mother was stressed out already, and she didn't want to add to that.

 

But what she didn't know was just how much that one moment in  _Monsieur Quincy's Antiques and Second-Hand Shoppe_  would change the course of American history.... _forever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was the first installment of GML. I will try to update as much as I can, but school is a bitch, so who knows. I hope you all enjoyed, and sorry for not a lot of Miraculous Magic yet. I just needed to add some exposition. There's still a lot more to go before the real action and *winks* romance and... angst


	2. Entry 2; Nooroo & The Butterfly Miraculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia gets a big surprise from a little brooch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for everyone who's read this so far! This next chapter came earlier than expected and it's not nearly as good or long as I'd hoped. Expect more interaction between characters next chapter!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose
> 
> Ps. The notes at the end of this chapter are being weird so its the same notes as the first chapter. Simply disregard this.

 

_July 7, 1769_  
_Boston, Massachusetts_

***

  
When she arrived home, Lydia dropped the groceries off in the kitchen, dipping her head to the one housekeeper sort of figure her father had hired to help out around the kitchen. She looked to be about 20, and she had never stated otherwise. The woman smiled at her. Jonas for all his faults, never could condone slavery, even if his reasons weren't so much on the moral ground than they were on the grounds that he believed all should be compensated for their work. Lydia could fully agree with this sentiment.

"Are you to help me with dinner preparations?" asked the housekeeper politely, turning back to peeling the carrots. Lydia nodded.

"Aye," she replied. "I will come and join you in a moment. I just have to drop something off in my room." The woman nodded again, and Lydia climbed the stairs to her quarters.

Once she was safely inside with the door closed, Lydia took a moment to look around the room. The wallpaper was floral and pale orange. Everything about the room was pale orange, actually. It was a comforting color, yet a sharp contrast to the pale purple brooch she pulled from her pocket and held up to examine.

In the new lighting, its wings looked much softer than they had in the shoppe, its color much more gentle. She smiled slightly, and she could almost feel the brooch hum in appreciation.

Lydia put down the purse, figuring she'd return it to its rightful place on her mother's bedside table after supper. Giving the brooch a one last once over, Lydia pinned the brooch to her bosom.

She was not prepared for what happened next.

Almost immediately after the breast pin was fastened, a dazzling purple light lit up the room and Lydia stumbled, falling flat on her rump with a startled shriek, feet up in the air and petticoats falling down over her face. Once she pushed away the frilly material from her line of sight, she was once again startled to see a small, lilac-colored creature floating just above her, deep violet eyes wide with concern. They looked at each other for a long moment, the anticipation thick in the air. Then,

"Oh my! Miss Lydia, are you quite alright?" the little creature asked nervously, twiddling its little extremities.

Lydia started to scream. The little creature's eyes blew wide and it flew down to her level. " _No, no, no, no, no!_ _Please_ don't be frightened! I'm Nooroo, and I'm a kwami. You... You're the new wielder of the Butterfly Miraculous!"

Lydia knew she looked much like a dead fish, mouth moving but no sound emerging. Nooroo hovered there awkwardly, waiting for her to say something. Finally, she found her voice. "Witchcraft..." she whispered, shuffling backwards on her butt until her back hit the corner of her dresser, and she let out a pained yelp.

Nooroo shook his head. "No, Miss! I'm here to help you! Please, just hear me out!"

***

After a great deal of exposition, Lydia had calmed down drastically. She was now raptured by Nooroo's explanation of the Miraculous and the powers and lore surrounding them. "So, you're a kwami," she reiterated and Nooroo nodded. "And with your help, I can transform into a...?"

"Yes, a heroine. With my help, you will transform into butterfly-based hero. You remember the powers you will be bestowed, yes?"

Lydia nodded, cupping her hands so that Nooroo might settle down in them. "I do remember. I am lighter on my feet so that I may almost appear to fly, and I am able to to create heroes by calling a butterfly to me and bestowing a power into it."

"Don't forget you will be able to get a read on people's emotions in and out of transformation. All you have to do is concentrate. This gift won't come to you in your civilian life until you and I have been a team long enough for the bond to develop." Nooroo added on, and Lydia smiled. She could barely believe this was happening to her, but she couldn't be more thrilled. The little kwami was so kind to her and the prospect of breaking the boundaries and roles society had provided for her was thrilling.

The heather-hued deity looked up at her, eyes hopefully. "Do you accept the Miraculous, Miss Lydia? Do you accept the responsibility?"

Lydia opened her mouth to confirm that yes, she accepted this honor wholeheartedly, but she hesitated, the words dying on her tongue. Instead, she asked the kwami a question that had been eating at the back of her mind since Nooroo had introduced himself. "Why me? What did I do to make you want me?"

Nooroo's wings sagged slightly as if he were disappointed by the question. "Is it not obvious? I felt you down in the market. I have felt your spirit's energy every day you came to run your errands. Sensed your pent up desire for change, the potential you have to actually make the change." The kwami offered a small smile, and Lydia found her eyes drawn to the small spiral-like design on his head. "You have the potential to rewrite the world's fate. To change destiny!"

Lydia sucked in another deep breathe and exhaled slowly, waiting for all the air to be gone from her lungs before she gave her breathless answer.

"Yes. Yes, I accept."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things start picking up i promise


	3. Entry 3; Monarch Butterflies & Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia has doubts in her faith life and Christmas is just around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! I'm back with the third chapter of GML and oh boy was this a tough one. There was a BIG time jump between last chapter and this chapter. This is because of how much time I plan on covering through this story. I'm essentially trying to get through about 60 years of history within a singular story, so there will be a lot of time skips. I will do my best to fill in the blanks, but this story will be as fast paced as I can manage after these first few chapters.  
> I'm also cutting out a lot of the unecccessary filler stuff in these opening glimpses into the Boyce family life. Otherwise, we'd be here all day. So sadly we will not see Christmas Eve played out completely or Christmas Day. Next chapter, I hope to open with a little recap of what went on though, but for our next installment get ready for a new decade that sweeps in the revoLUTION!!
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

_December 17, 1769_  
_Boston, Massachusetts_

***

  
Five months had passed since Lydia had accepted the Miraculous, and winter was now settled heavily upon Boston. During these five months, Nooroo had taught his chosen how to wield her new powers, transforming only a few times to test it out. There had been no real conflict that had needed Lydia's intervention, thus she had stayed quiet and out of sight. Her time had not yet come.

It was the third Sunday of Advent and Lydia had found herself being toted along reluctantly to the Old South Church, Nooroo tucked safely in the ruffles of her skirt.

It was not so much that she did not like attending Mass, it had become more of an immense doubt. Nooroo's very existence disproved many of the things that had been taught about the Lord, and it had Lydia rather torn. She was a member of the Church of England, brought up as a true believer of the word....but now she was also a Miraculous Holder. Would God be upset with her? Was she condemned to _hell_? Was the Miraculous a trick of Lucifer himself? Or was it simply that she'd been wrong all her life— that they'd all been wrong; that God in all His glory, was not real?

These thoughts swam inside her mind as she stepped through the wooden doors into the congregation making her nervous and antsy, just as it had every Sunday since she'd been chosen. She felt the pressure of Nooroo's small body press up against her leg in a comforting fashion as if he could feel her anxiety, which he most likely could, and Lydia was at the same time grateful and guilty. The mere idea of the sweet kwami being Satan was so terribly inappropriate of her, she could hardly stand it. Nooroo didn't deserve such things thought of him. She didn't deserve such a friend. In the short time they'd been in each other's company, Lydia already felt as though she could never be without the purple kwami's companionship. He was always by her side now, especially when she transformed.

When in the brooch, Nooroo had a direct connection to her emotions and thoughts and vice versa. He would give the unspoken advice and Lydia would respond to it; she propose a question and Nooroo would convey an answer. No words would be spoken, but they would be able to almost feel the correspondence. It was a bond that had already become quite strong within the past months and could only get stronger. She couldn't even imagine life without the Miraculous now.

She and her family sat down in their usual pew, her father helping her mother into the seat. Henrietta Boyce had given birth in late September to a baby boy whom she'd named Rufus after her late father-in-law who had died back in London from cholera in 1748.

Baby Rufus had stayed at home with the housekeeper that Sunday as it had been quickly found that he was quite the crier. Her parents were puffed out with pride that they finally had a son to carry on the family name, and Lydia and her sisters were very happy to have a little brother, but the most overjoyed of all was by far Nooroo. Every chance he got, the purple kwami would coo over the cradle, commenting on how strong of a spirit the two-month old had. Lydia would nod in agreement kissing Rufus on the head, feeling the baby's soul stir faintly herself. She was beginning to feel all the traces of the spirits in the people she interacted with daily, and Nooroo assured her it would become strong enough for her to be considered empathetic.

As the pastor came up to the lector to begin the mass, Lydia straightened and Nooroo got comfortable. The congregation grew quiet as the clergyman began to preach. She sang along with all the psalms and hymns, stifling a laugh as Prudence stumbled over the Latin words, grumbling over how stupid it was that it couldn't be in English. Her father shot a disapproving glance Prudence's way, and Lydia took it upon herself to place a firm hand on her sister's knee. Hester gave a silent giggle from her place on Prudence's other side before all three turned their attention back to the Mass.

As the liturgy continued, however, she could feel not only Prudence's frustration, but many other emotional auras lazily pulsing around her, pressing in. She shifted uncomfortably, but Lydia noted that this was not the first time it happened that she sensed the emotions of other people around her; it generally came about if she was around a person or a large mass of people for long enough, and once it started, it wouldn't stop till she'd retreated to somewhere that was somewhat isolated. It took a great amount of time for her to notice it and quite a bit of time for it to go away. It was like someone had gripped a patch of her skin, squeezing it and then letting go, watching as the color slowly drained back into the handprint. Nooroo claimed that it would be some time before she could turn this empathetic gift on and off at will, and until then she'd have to just deal with the overwhelming wave of feeling from those around her.

It was greatly uncomfortable to sit still and pretend nothing was bothering her, but she knew she was failing. This had happened every Sunday since she'd started noticing the side-effects of the Miraculous, and her mother especially was getting irritated with her uncomfortable fidgeting. Mrs. Boyce placed a hand on her knee, just as Lydia had with Prudence, but the warning was much more serious. Lydia could tell her mother was annoyed not only by her new abilities, but by simply the sharp look she was sent.

But she couldn't help it; Lydia felt it all: the cold, tired, and ruffled people, as well as those rejoicing in Christ's message to His people.

She did her best to block out the pressure as she watched the third candle on the advent wreath flicker in the drafty church. One week to Christmas; that was what she should focus on. Lydia had made and small gifts for her family for the first time this year: she'd written a song dedicated to her parents to be played on the piano, bought a book of stitching patterns for Hester at a shop downtown, and had actually enlisted Hester's help to knit mittens for Prudence's always freezing hands. Lydia had also asked her little sister for guidance on how to make a small cape for Nooroo to wear against the cold while he was upstairs eating his daily meal of blackberries from the bush outside. Hester looked skeptical as she guided Lydia's knitting needles to the rhythm of the pattern, but did not ask questions as to what the cape was for.

 _Thank god_ , she thought, turning her gaze on her youngest sister. _That would have been hard to explain._ Hester was small and looked more the age of seven than thirteen—acted that way, too. She'd been the only child to inherit her father's dirty blond hair and hazel eyes, and it was plain to see she was already very pretty. Her sweetness exceeded her appearance, though. Hester was a stark contrast to Prudence whose dark hair and eyes stood out like blood on snow when paired with her pale skin. It was not that Prudence wasn't pretty, it was simply her features were much too bold, just as her personality was. Their mother often said that Lydia was the happy medium between the two extremes that were her sisters' personas. Between Hester's naïvety and Prudence's brashness was Lydia's calculating boldness. Lydia, unlike Prudence, was able to use tact when it came to her opinions and statements, but contrary to Hester, Lydia wasn't blind to how the world worked. The three of them were quite a group, Nooroo had commented to her one morning after the Boyce family had eaten breakfast together. Lydia had to agree.

They had to stand, then, to sing the Offertory Psalm before Communion, and Lydia's original doubts had returned as she sung out the praises of God. Was she in any state to receive? Was she committing a mortal sin? When it was her pew's turn to go up to receive the Eucharist, Lydia was sent into a quiet panic. Am I clean? Am I worthy? As she made her way up in the line to the priest who held the chalice and bowl of the Precious Blood and Precious Body, she felt flushed and anxious. It was nothing compared to moments before the Host touched her tongue. Lydia kneeled and answered the minister with the standard, "Amen." She cringed as the Host touched her tongue, waiting for lightning or some mighty force to strike her dead. But, to her surprise, nothing happened. She took a sip of the wine and yet again nothing happened.

Moving back to her seat, she felt a numb sense of nothing trickle through her—no stirring senses of regret, no true fear. Despite her perceived sins, Lydia had received the Body and Blood of Christ without so much as a suspicious glance. Nothing.

It was unnerving.

* * *

 

_December 24, 1769  
Boston, Massachusetts_

***

  
Christmas Eve had arrived in a flurry of anticipation around the Boyce household. Hester woke up excitedly on the cold December morning and rushed to wake Lydia whom she knew would be much more willing to share in her happiness than their other grump of a sister.

Nooroo only had a moment to hide himself beneath the bed before Hester had tossed herself down onto Lydia's lumped and sleeping frame, blonde curls falling in her eyes. "Oh, Lydia! Lydia, it's Christmas Eve! Isn't it exciting?"

Lydia yelped when she felt Hester's small body sprawling onto her own, but soon her surprise morphed into fondness. "My goodness, yes," she chuckled, nudging her gently off the blanket. "Are you excited to see what I've made for you tomorrow?"

Hester's eyes brightened like candlelight. "Oh! Can't you show me now? I can't wait till tomorrow!"

Lydia laughed, getting up from under her warm covers, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. "No, no," she said, shooing her little sister out the door. "You'll just have to wait. Now, leave me in peace so I can get dressed!" Hester stuck her tongue out teasingly before taking off down the hallway. Lydia heard her mother's sharp yell in protest to the unladylike footsteps and the running abruptly stopped. She giggled and shut her door.

Nooroo flittered up from under the bed, perching on Lydia's vanity. "I know that Miss Hester will love the gift you picked for her," he commented warmly, handing her her hairbrush. She took it with a smile and started to work at the tangles in the dark mass.

"Thank you, Nooroo. I hope so. I hope everyone is happy with what I've chosen!" Lydia replied, beginning to pin her hair up in its normal style. "This gift giving on Christmas is a newer practice around here, still not popular like it is in Virginia. But I figured that it would be a good way to show everyone how much they mean to me."

Nooroo's wings fluttered happily at his Chosen's words. "You've chosen gifts that suit each of them well. That's a great skill to have already under your wings for when it comes time to start choosing champions!"

At this, Lydia tensed. She'd barely transformed once, let alone practiced bestowing " _Tiānshǐ_ ", as Nooroo called the butterflies she'd empowered, to citizens. It all seemed a little shady to her: some butterfly landing on a civilian she felt had a strong enough emotional aura about them, offering them power, and then being able to practically manipulate them however she chose. It felt almost evil. Upon voicing her concerns to her kwami, he assured her that the pure butterflies she sent out were nothing close to evil. But like anything else, power could be abused. These butterflies made from the darkness were called " _Akuma_ " according to the purple deity. Neither word was familiar to Lydia, and she had asked what they meant.

 

 _"Well," Nooroo began, settling in Lydia's palm as they sat together in her bed chamber, "loosely, they translate to_ angels _and_ demons _." Lydia grimaced._

_"I much prefer the terms that don't sound like they hold so much power. No one would be pleased to hear that they'd been possessed by a demon, or even an angel, for that matter."_

_Nooroo looked slightly upset. "Miss Lydia, you're not the type to use the Miraculous as a tool to control people." He flew up to press the spiral on his forehead to her own. "That's why I chose you. You'll know what to do when the time comes."_

_Lydia nodded, rather unsure. Nooroo sensed this, as he always did. But he didn't try to reassure her further, instead changing the subject. "How about we try transformation. You haven't done so yet, and it's been a month since we came into each other's company."_

_Lydia brightened, for she'd been waiting for a chance to try becoming the heroine Nooroo had claimed she'd be. "Will you tell me the transformation phrase, now?" She asked, brown eyes blowing wide._

_Nooroo giggled. "Of course. Just say, 'Wings rise!' Remember, we will be in complete union with each other, and while I cannot speak to you directly, I will do my best to advise you. Are you ready?"_

_Lydia nodded, lifting her chin with pride. "Nooroo, wings rise!"_

_Purple light shimmered up her body, her long dress disappearing as new attire took over. When the light faded, she looked around herself, and was awed by the seemingly hundreds of white butterflies—or were they moths?— that had materialized after transformation. They were perched everywhere, big ones and small ones, and they all seemed to flutter with excitement at her first transformation. Lydia punless her gaze away from her new friends, approaching the mirror....and was severely disappointed. She did love the design of her suit— it was liberating compared to the fashion she and the other women were forced into—, but the color scheme didn't speak to her. Deep navies, purples and blues greeted her, the Miraculous back to the state it was in before it came into her possession. It did not reflect her spirit, her beliefs._

_Lydia released the transformation, the butterflies swirling back into the Miraculous stone like a white whirlwind, and moved to the window, looking out into the street. Nooroo frowned. "You don't like it?"_

_Lydia shrugged, looking out at the bustling road. "The design itself is lovely, really...it's just...the colors don't represent me as a person, Nooroo. Purple and blue makes me seem passive, like...like I'm just going to stand by and do_ nothing _!" Lydia turned to face her kwami a little sheepishly for raising her voice. Then she sighed. "I want people to know exactly how I feel about my role in all of this. That I'm not going to just stand by, but that I'm going to fight."_

_Nooroo nodded knowingly, eyes gentle. "You're not the first who's felt this way, Miss Lydia. Throughout history, many of my charges have changed one thing or another about the suit to fit them. If the color is what's bothering you, you may change it."_

_Lydia felt her heart squeeze in appreciation, and she pulled the kwami close to her face to nuzzle him. "Thank you, Nooroo," she murmured, smiling slightly at him. Nooroo smiled back._

_"You're welcome," he replied, zooming up and hovering at her eye level. "Just think of a pattern and color arrangement, and say the words!" Nooroo continued with a grin._

_Lydia bit her lip and turned back to the window, looking down into the street below. It was August at this time and still unbearably hot; Lydia was surprised anything was even alive. And that was when she saw it— a butterfly, black and orange with little spots of white, flitting through the lively people and horses, each flap of its wings deliberate. It was a Monarch butterfly._

_She grinned. "Nooroo," she began, "wings rise."_

 

That had been August. Four months had come and passed and that was the only time she'd transformed. She'd barely used her powers except for trying to harness the empathetic side-effects; to tell the truth, Lydia had no idea how she'd even go about choosing a champion. It would be hard to do so under normal circumstances, and even harder under pressure on the battle field, if Nooroo was right in saying that war was on the horizon.

She merely nodded to Nooroo's previous statement, and he didn't press the subject further, instead helping her lace up her dress once she'd pulled it on.

The butterfly kwami ducked into the ruffles of her dress as she made her way down the stairs and into the dining room. Her family (minus Prudence, who was undoubtedly still asleep) already sat around the table, and Lydia sat down at her place, taking a crumpet from the tray in the middle.

"Good morning, Father. Good morning, Mother," she greeted, plucking a blackberry off the tray as well, holding it down for Nooroo to take for his breakfast. "Happy Christmas."

Her mother smiled. "Now, now. It's not Christmas yet. You're almost as eager as your sister." Hester grinned, wrapping her fingers around Lydia's under the table and squeezing.

Mr. Boyce chuckled. "Someone ought to go and rouse Prudence. A lady does not sleep in when her family is up and about, especially on Christmas Eve."

Hester practically leapt up from her seat with a wide smile and raced up the stairs, no doubt to take a running leap at her sleeping sister. Lydia bet herself that Hester was about to get slapped in the face.

A faint shriek a few moments later did not leave her disappointed. Several minutes afree, Hester descended the stairs again, rubbing her left cheek and dragging a grumpy Prudence along behind her.

Lydia held a hand to her mouth to keep from giggling, while her mother sighed dramatically. Even without her empathy, one would have to be completely comatose to not feel the irritation radiating off the pale brunette. This wasn't uncommon, though; every morning was a struggle for Prudence and it was a miracle she hadn't slaughtered Hester who woke her up almost every morning at their mother's request.

"Good morning, Prue. Sleep well?" she teased, taking a bite of her breakfast. Prudence scowled and sat down with a plop.

"Fantastic," she grumbled, snatching one of the doughy cakes from the tray and beginning to aggressively butter it. Their father cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, good morning to you as well," he said, looking pointedly at Prudence. "And a happy Christmas, too."

Prudence looked up, decent enough to look slightly sheepish. "Ah—Yes. Happy Christmas, everyone!" she exclaimed awkwardly, pained in her tone. Mr. Boyce rolled his eyes good-naturedly and stood up from the table.

"On that note, I'm off to the shop. There's work to be done!" he announced, a glitter in his eye that made Mrs. Boyce groan softly in irritation.

"Oh, Jonas, must you? On Christmas Eve?" she queried, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. Lydia's father was a silversmith, and he was one who enjoyed his trade with a passion. He was often working, even on holidays, much to the whole family—though mostly Henrietta's—chagrin.

He took his wife's hand and squeezed it gently, then addressing the table. "Yes, I must; there is work to be done! I'll be back home long before the church bells even start ringing." And with that, he grabbed his hat and coat and was out the door into the cold air.

Mrs. Boyce sighed, turning back to her breakfast. "Eat up, everyone. Lydia, once you are done, do play us a melody on the piano; Prudence could due for a better example of the talent she is up against in this family."

Lydia nodded to her mother, flashing a subtle smirk across the table at her sister who gave her a glare that could have started a fire. If there was one thing Lydia could do, it was play the piano. One would even call her talents _miraculous_. And when she sensed Nooroo's bubbling pride radiating from her dress, she knew he was in total agreement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes how trashy was that flashback with the transformation? Hopefully, if I'm fast enough we'll get to the good stuff sooner rather than later.  
> Until next time!


	4. Entry 4; 1770: The Boston Massacre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Happy Halloweekend!
> 
> I'm here to usher in the new decade with a little violence and call for rebellion. It's rather short, but the next ones will be longer.
> 
> If you celebrate Halloween, tell me what you're wearing for a costume. I'm either going to be an owl or a mime (again)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!  
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

  
_March 5, 1770_  
_Boston, Massachusetts_

***

It wasn't so late when it happened.

Lydia held Hester's hand tightly and Prudence rubbed her mittened hands together vehemently as they made their way down the dark streets of Boston, heading home after an afternoon at the marketplace. In her free hand, she held a coin purse and a basket of bread and blocks of tea. Nooroo was snuggled up in her petticoats, pressed near to her heart. He was content, and by extension that seeped into Lydia, making her warm. The Miraculous was pinned proudly in the center of her bosom, the purple brooch contrasting with the warm peach of her attire, but it didn't matter much to her, despite the raised eyebrow she'd been given from Prudence when they left the house.

The empathetic side-effects of her post as the Miraculous wielder were almost, according to Nooroo, at their full potential. Eight months in each other's company had paid off. Lydia had also transformed quite a bit more, actually going out and leaping from the rooftops in the dead of night. Sadly, she could not fly as she had hoped, but she seemed almost weightless. Airy, if one would describe it that way. She wielded a cane of sorts when in costume, but left the white butterflies behind in her room. Nooroo had stated that they could be called upon to create a champion or help her fight if she were close enough. It was comforting, in a way, to know she had friends that had her back, however little they may be.

All these thoughts dissipated when the sisters turned a corner and Lydia was practically knocked over by the sheer force of the tension and anger and anxiety that hit her. Hester felt the shift in her sister's posture and looked up at her in concern. "What's wrong, Lydia? Did you see something?" Lydia shook the foreign feelings off and squeezed Hester's hand tightly, noticing she'd jerked to a stop. Prudence was a few steps ahead, looking back at her siblings in mild solicitude, wisps of dark hair framing her face in the dim light.

Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head, the heavy pressure of the emotion a few streets down making her head ache. From the uncomfortable shifting of the kwami, he felt it, too. Nevertheless, she gestured for the three to continue on.

She mulled over the possibilities of what they could be walking into. A possible skirmish between one of the more bold men with a British officer? It was plausible— after all, most citizens of Boston were quite bitter over the troops stationed in the colony for the past two years, including Lydia herself. She and Prudence often had quite conversations about the resistance and boycotting that was taking place so as not to anger their father who was a supporter of the crown. They left Hester out of it for many reasons, the biggest being that she had the biggest mouth in all of New England and would surely let it slip to Jonas that they were not supporters of his beliefs which would surely cause a rift in the family. With only a little guilt, Lydia admitted her being in possession of the Butterfly Miraculous for the sole purpose of aiding the pending revolution was already creating cracks in her family that she knew would never be able to quite mend if the truth came out.

When they reached King Street, all three stopped dead in their tracks. Lydia had been somewhat correct in her assumption of a skirmish between civilian and British officer, but nothing of this magnitude. A crowd which they were now somewhat apart of, that could only be described as a mob was pressing in on the officers stationed outside the Customs House, throwing snowballs and rocks. The officers were clearly agitated with the people, but it was evident to Lydia that they were also frightened and rather uncertain.

"Prudence," she ordered suddenly, passing off Hester's hand to her sister, "take Hester home down the back streets."

Prudence scoffed incredulously, dropping the younger girl's hand. "You must be out of your mind if you think that I'm going to miss this! These officers getting what they deserve!"

Hester opened her mouth to say something, but Lydia cut her off. "Go home. Now. There is no room for discussion on this one, Prue."

"Then how come you get to stay?" she shot back, eye brow raised as the jeers of the mob grew louder.

"Because I'm the oldest, so do as I say and go home!"

The mob grew louder and was pressing closer to the the officers. They were still on the very outskirts of the crowd, but Lydia could feel the British's panic beginning to heighten. Or perhaps it was her own. Prudence was shouting something at Lydia, but she wasn't listening anymore. Something was about to happen. The jeering and shouting grew louder as colonists moved forward on the officers, on the offense. These said officers were ringed in a semicircle, muskets raised in case of violence...which there was.

Nooroo seemed to know trouble was coming fast, too, because his little voice drifted up to her in concern. "Lydia..."

One of the officers was hit by one of the flying projectiles one of the colonists had thrown. He fell, dropping his gun. In an instant, he was up once more, blood dripping from the wound on his head, and there was then a shout of three words that Lydia would never forget: "DAMN YOU, FIRE!"

BANG!

Lydia leapt to cover her sisters on instinct as screams erupted into the air and more ragged shots were fired. Hester was trembling, pressed in between Prudence and Lydia. Finally, the firing stopped. The crowd began to disperse, converging once more in the streets. But the three sisters stood amongst the remaining people, holding each other tightly. Lydia craned her neck around and looked to where there were bodies strewn on the cobblestone. Two white men and a slave were draped upon the ground and in people's arms along with several wounded people. Some of the British officers still remained on the steps, looking about nervously, still holding their guns tightly.

Lydia turned back to her family and, without another word, started pulling them down a less crowded street towards home.

 

* * *

 

_March 6, 1770_   
_Boston, Massachusetts_

***

"This is an outrage!" Mr. Boyce exclaimed the next morning at breakfast, slamming his fist down onto the table. The women flinched. "How dare these people think they can attack British officers and not face the repercussions of such an action!"

"But, Father! Pay with their _lives_?" Prudence's voice sounded suddenly, as if she couldn't keep it in any longer. Hester squeaked, covering her face with her hands, anticipating the storm that was about to hit the family harbor.

Jonas turned his irritated gaze on his daughter, but before he could say a word, Mrs. Boyce's hand was on his arm. "While I do agree these rebels should be quelled, violence is not the best course of action for the Crown to take. It will only spread this fire. This was a tragedy I'm sure our city will not forget for many years to come."

Jonas grumbled something unintelligible, going back to his breakfast. Henrietta sighed, turning to her eldest daughter who'd been sitting quietly the entire exchange. "Lydia, dear, can you please go check on Rufus? He should still be sleeping, but if he needs anything, please take care of it."

She nodded dutifully, standing up from the table and making her way up the stairs. Nooroo peaked out of her dress and came to hover beside her as she walked down the hall to the room where the baby slept. "What's wrong, Miss Lydia? Are you okay?"

She paused in opening the door, turning to look at her kwami with a pained expression. "I could have saved those people, Nooroo. If I had gotten away to transform, I could have....I could have.... _done something_!" She sighed heavily, making her way into the room. She sat on the chair beside the cradle and peered in. Rufus was awake, his hazel eyes blinking up at her. Lydia's lips twitched upward, then fell again. Nooroo flew down to hover in front of her baby brother's face. The baby's eyes lit up and he began to gurgle happily.

After a few moments, Nooroo spoke. "You're right. You could have done something." Lydia looked at him, frown deepening. But the kwami wasn't finished. "The thing is, however, that you did the right thing by not stepping in. There will be plenty of time for that in the future. For now, let these colonies rise up on their own. When the time comes to assist, you will know; you will feel it." The small deity turned from Rufus and placed a comforting protuberance on her cheek. "People are going to die, Lydia. That is the way it has always been, but you are strong and smart enough to fight this battle even with that knowledge. I believe in you."

Lydia cupped her hands and Nooroo settled down into them. She felt his sincerity and certainty trickle into her like rivulets; it was comforting. She heard Rufus giggling, his innocence striking her like lightning. If nothing else, she would fight this inevitable war for him, for all the children whose innocence must be preserved. They deserved it. And if she could help it, they would maintain it.


	5. Entry 5; 1773: The Boston Tea Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been a while, hasn't it?  
> I'm back with another installment of GML!  
> Forgive me for my absence. It's been a long week. This isn't my best, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

  
_August 14, 1773_   
_Boston, Massachusetts_

Lydia sighed as Nooroo perched on the music stand, her fingers brushing the ivory keys lightly. There was tension in the air amongst the colonies, that much was obvious. After all, it was only a few months after Parliament had passed what they called the Tea Act of 1773, and many people—neighbors and friends— were not pleased with this development. Lydia herself bristled at the thought of the British imposing yet another tax on the colonies; it was as if they had no regard for the good of their people, only caring for money and for their damned, failing East India Company. Colonists in Massachusetts had already started the boycotts of British tea, some even turning violent. Her parents grew more frustrated as the protests continued; they could no longer easily buy their wonderful tea.

Prudence had muttered earlier that week once their father complained about no longer being able to drink the warm liquid after work as he was used to because of all the boycotting that, "Thank goodness they passed that tax; tea tastes worse than the chamber pot smells." Lydia had stifled a laugh and their mother had given them a disapproving glance.

On top of the whole taxation business, Lydia had turned 21 and her mother was very much interested in marrying her off. Lydia, of course, was not thrilled with the prospect of being paired off with the first wealthy British soldier that her mother could coerce into courting her, and had come up with a compromise: Lydia would actively search for a husband of her own choosing— as long as he wasn't a low-life, her parents had promised their blessing. After she'd made the deal, she'd retired to her room and locked the door. Nooroo had done his best to brighten her mood, but he could do nothing to change her outlook on the situation. But more so than her anger over the marriage development, she was frustrated with her inability to fight. Already there had been protests in which she could have helped, but Nooroo had each time told her to wait. Wait for the perfect conditions. What a waste.

Lydia didn't even notice she'd brought her hands down on the keys in an ugly discord until she glanced over and saw Nooroo cringing. The purple kwami's eyes opened again, with a patient and gentle look in her direction. "Oh, Miss Lydia, I know you're frustrated, but you must be patient. The time will co—"

She groaned. "Yes, yes! I get it! 'The time will come to take action; we must lie in wait until it's time!' Well, what if I don't want to just sit here and wait! I hate having this power and not being able to use it to spark this revolution!"

She chewed the inside of her cheek in frustration, glancing down at the piano keys again. Nooroo, picking up on what she was going to do, nodded with quiet encouragement. With a tentative 'plink' she hit the first note, then the next. Soon, Lydia was playing a melody by ear, making up the tune as she went. The tension began to leave her shoulders as she poured all her irritation into the music. After a few minutes, she stopped, practically slumping on the piano bench.

"Oh, that was lovely, as always!" Nooroo gushed, floating up to hug her cheek. "Don't you feel better?"

Lydia shrugged, standing up. "I suppose so; I'm still annoyed that I can't do anything."

Nooroo fluttered his little wings in slight agitation. "The Butterfly is a passive Miraculous; the fight comes to us and then we make ourselves known through our champions. Very rarely do my chosens go into battle or conflict themselves."

Lydia nodded in reluctant understanding and she felt Nooroo's nervous tension dissipate. She touched her index finger to the kwami's head and smiled slightly. "I get it. I can wait, but if this doesn't start picking up speed soon, I might scream."

The kwami chuckled, settling down into Lydia's lap. "It'll come sooner than you think."

The brunette gave a breathy laugh in return. "Nooroo, we've been together for a while now, haven't we?"

"Practically four years now. You've come so far with your skills! And you've done so well keeping me hidden," he praised, wings fluttering proudly.

"Why did you choose me? I mean, a seventeen year old girl born to supporters of the Crown chosen to help inspire others to revolution?"

"Oh, Miss Lydia, we have been over this," Nooroo cooed from his spot amongst her dress folds. "I didn't know anything about you except that I felt your drive, your potential, and your heart. You are a wonderful butterfly— one they will talk of for years to come."

Lydia laughed again, using one hand to hit a few notes on the piano. "You really think so, Nooroo?"

Nooroo hummed softly, shutting his eyes. "I know so."

***

_December 16, 1773  
Boston, Massachusetts_

She felt it all around her. This was it! This was her moment. Even Nooroo was fidgeting with excitement. The emotion, the drive she could feel from the harbor all the way from her home. Such a strong will for rebellion could not be ignored.

"Are you ready?" Nooroo asked, wings fluttering in unadulterated exuberance. "Just say the words and we'll be off!"

Lydia slipped out of bed, holding the lit candle tightly in her grasp as she rushed to the door, turning the lock. No one would come in, and no one would come out. She turned back around to Nooroo and by the light of the flame, she could see his purple eyes sparkling.

"Let's start a revolution. Nooroo, wings rise!"

A violet light and fluttering white wings burst forth from the brooch pinned to her night gown as Nooroo disappeared into the Miraculous, shimmering up and down her body. In its wake, the black and orange outfit formed. The strange cloth was skin tight, but comfortable and breathable unlike her everyday attire. Already, she was feeling like a weight was lifted off her shoulders and she tossed the cane between her hands in excitement.

Monarch, as she had dubbed her alter-ego ironically almost a year prior, moved to the window and pushed it open, the latch clanging softly against the pane. The Tiānshǐ fluttered in anticipation and Monarch reached her gloved hand out, calling upon three of the white butterflies to come with her in case a champion was needed. They fluttered onto her shoulder and she whispered to them to hang on; they rustled agreeably in response. The rest she blew a kiss to. With a deep breathe, she threw herself through the open space and into the cold night. The winter wind bit her nose and cheeks, the mask protecting only parts of her skin. She flitted from roof to roof, from chimney to chimney towards the harbor.

The smell of sea salt and the waves of emotion washed over her, and it was so dizzying as she grew closer that more than once Monarch almost collapsed to her knees. But she focused on her own emotion and Nooroo's support from all around her and forged on. It was clear she needed to work on shutting out the emotions she didn't want to feel. Now was not the time, though.

Monarch landed on a rooftop overlooking Boston Harbor, cane gripped tightly in her hand, the _Tiānshǐ_ on her shoulder fidgeting. Her brown eyes scanned what looked to be a mob. Many of the men were dressed in Mohawk Native attire while other men and women stood on the docks pounding their chests and shouting. Monarch's pulse raced and she leapt down nearby onto the cobblestones close to the docks.

She pushed through the crowd and leapt up onto the ship along with the radical colonists. They'd started tipping tea into the harbor, the cheers growing louder with each crate that hit the water. Some of the men gave her strange looks, and Monarch was able to feel waves of disdain rolling off those who bother to look her way alongside the adrenaline and thrill. But they were too busy tossing over the cargo to actually confront her. Monarch ignored the glances, confident in her mask, and went to work herself, using her cane as a lever to lift up a corner of the first chest, and she leaned down and grasped the lifted corner. To her surprise, Monarch was able to lift it with one hand; she'd never been strong before! Did the costume also come with enhanced strength? She supposed it made sense, considering she could jump long distances and feel practically weightless. With her newfound discovery, Monarch lifted chest after chest and dumped it over the side of the ship. She felt the confusion and surprise of men who had their eyes on her as she dumped her thirteenth case overboard, her own satisfaction blooming as the splash reached her ears from the dark water below.

Monarch was reaching for the next chest when a hand grasped her arm roughly. She was whipped around to come face to face with a man maybe thirty years her senior. In the dark, his blue eyes glinted underneath his face paint. "Who might you be, young lady? Don't you know its dangerous to be on board?"

Monarch yanked her arm away and wrinkled her nose. "Then why are you here, sir? I'm doing just fine." The white butterflies on her shoulders fluttered their wings in irritation, mimicking their mistress' own emotion. "You ought to get back to work, yourself."

The man spluttered in surprise at her retort, and Monarch was once again satisfied. As Lydia she wouldn't dare speak up like that, but as Monarch she was totally free. A woman in a man's world, yes. But she was now a Miraculous holder in a man's world. And once she rose up and showed them all she was capable of, it wouldn't matter if she was a woman or not.

The older man looked like he might go to strike her, but another man behind him laughed. "Oh, Sam, she's right you know!" he chuckled, clapping him on the back. "And she's pulling her weight. Come on. Let's dump the rest of this and get out of here!"

Monarch smiled, but the young man didn't see her in the dark, and the man, Sam, grumbled and went back to the task at hand. Soon they were done, and Monarch quickly made her leave of the harbor, leaping up and over the rooftops as quickly as her feet could carry her. The young woman climbed in through her open window and dropped the transformation, her raw and chapped face stinging now that the power of the Miraculous wasn't in effect. The white butterflies had disappeared back inside her brooch and Nooroo appeared before her eyes, grinning.

Lydia through back her head and let out a string of thrilled laughter. "Not a single colonist is getting a cup of tea!" she exclaimed, rubbing her Miraculous. "Only the fishes will have that pleasure!"


	6. Entry 6; Sisterly Love & A New Type of Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Miraculers! Happy December!  
> I hope you enjoy this new update. I told you a love story would blossom from it...also a subplot with Prudence and the Ronshouts. But you'll see more of that in the next chapter.  
> Have a great weekend, everyone!
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

_December 30, 1773_

_Boston, Massachusetts_

 

More than a week had passed since the tea dumping in Boston Harbor, and already rumors were flying around about what exactly _had happened_ that night. Jonas had what Hester had innocently dubbed "a fit" on Christmas Night when Lydia had been dumb enough to smugly bring up the fact that she'd heard there was a woman that aided the revolutionaries. Their father began muttering about how ungrateful the rebels were and how it was even worse that there was a masked whore on board dumping tea over.

 

Lydia had tensed at his word choice. Sure, her attire was rather form-fitting, but she'd done nothing to constitute the title of a whore. Her mother agreed with her and scolded her husband for his vulgar language, that there were ladies and a child present. 

 

He'd mentioned it no more, the next morning heading off to his shoppe and not returning till later that night. He had been in a much better mood after that.

 

But now it was almost the new year and after much begging on Lydia and Hester's part and a lot of sly manipulation from Prudence, the three sisters managed to convince their parents to allow them to attend the New Year's Revel at the local tavern. It was also a celebration of the success of at Boston harbor, but they'd conveniently left that factor out. Mostly, Lydia had been the deciding factor, casually dropping the comment that there would be young, eligible bachelors at the party; her mother had eaten that up and practically pressed them to go.

 

Rufus had giggled and made a sweet comment about wanting to party, too. Lydia had heard Nooroo coo in adoration at her little brother, and she had to stifle a laugh.

 

After they'd managed to get the consent, the sisters had practically galloped up to Lydia's bedroom to try on dresses. Lydia made it in first and bid Nooroo to hide underneath her bed just as Hester came barreling in, Prudence scuttling in behind her.

 

Even though her youngest sister was was 17 now, she still possessed the most childlike innocence she'd ever witnessed, ever felt. And Prudence, now 19, was quite the contrast. Lydia had always gotten the sense that her sister was unhappy, but it was always hard to determine what the cause exactly was. She wanted to help her, but there was no way she could unless she straight out asked. No, Prudence was a strong girl, even Nooroo had said it once or twice; she would forge her own path.

 

"What have you got that'll fit me?" Hester squealed immediately, rushing the closet and rummaging through her gowns. Lydia laughed, coming up behind her.

 

"Don't you have your own dresses?" she teased, ruffling Hester's light hair as she laughed.

 

"Well, yes, but yours are so much prettier than mine!" Hester replied, ducking out of Lydia's reach with one of her smaller, yellow gowns, twirling around and holding it up to her body.

 

Prudence snorted, nudging Lydia out of the way to go rummaging through, too. "Hester's right. You've got a pretty rose dress that I want to wear, and I intend to wear it.

 

Lydia rolled her eyes as Prudence took the dress and copied Hester mockingly, and Hester laughed heartily as Prudence batted her eyelashes at her and cooed out sweet nothings. Lydia had to hold her stomach when Prudence grasped Hester's hand and kissed it lightly.

 

"Ahh, Mademoiselle," she purred. Hester shrieked.

 

"Oh, Monsieur! How scandalous!" she joked, pulling her hand away and fanning herself.

 

Lydia plucked a pale periwinkle gown from her closet and spun around to join them. Holding out her hand to Prudence, she giggled. "Shall we dance?"

 

Prudence snorted again. "Of course, my fair lady." And so they did, dancing around her bedroom, laughing all the while while Hester clapped her hands to a silent beat.

 

Nooroo, meanwhile, peaked his head out from underneath the bed, a small smile playing on his face. The glee and childlike innocence was thick in the air. Only Prudence had any seed of unhappiness rooted deeply; he knew why, even if his chosen didn't. But even that sadness was overridden by the merriment in the company of sisters. He'd grown to be a part of Lydia's family (even if they didn't know he existed) and hoped that this dance could give everyone what they needed to live their lives long and happy.

 

Of course, not everyone gets what they want all the time.

 

***

 

_December 31, 1773_

_Boston, Massachusetts_

 

Lydia grasped Hester's hand as the three Boyces arrived at the party. The tavern's table's and chair had been pushed to the side to allow for dancing space. The room was hot with all the bodies packed in, despite the chill of the December air.

 

Lydia was almost struck down by the swirl of emotions that hit her straight in the gut. Excitement, lust, glee, nerves, anger, irritation, love, and so much more. It was overwhelming, but she shoved them to the side; they weren't her emotions, and they could be ignored albeit with effort.

 

There was a band playing a loud, upbeat tune and several men and women were bouncing and twirling along to the music. Lydia registered Hester's hand slip out of hers just as she saw her sister's dress (well, her dress) disappear into the crowds. Lydia turned to look at Prudence, but found her gone, too.

 

She sighed, turning to face the crowds by herself. Nooroo popped out of her bodice and gave her an encouraging nod. Lydia dipped her head in return, rubbing the camouflaged Miraculous from where it was pinned to the center of her collar. Okay, so maybe she wasn't all by herself, after all.

 

The dark haired young woman, pulled herself off to the side, scanning the crowd for either of her sisters or any other friendly faces. She recognizes some people, but no one she'd ever actually talked to. After a couple of minutes, she spotted Prudence's sweep of dark brown hair and the rose-colored gown within the mob of merrymakers. Her sister's back was to her, and she seemed to be talking to a young woman about Lydia's age, maybe a year younger. She was blonde and her dress was a deep burgundy. Lydia recognized her as Alexandra Ronshout. Their family lived rather far from the Boyce household, but Mrs. Boyce had taken a liking to the family, always pushing one of her daughters to woo the heart of Diedrich Ronshout, Alexandra's older brother.

 

Suddenly, Nooroo's excited voice whispered into her ear, "Miss Lydia, someone is coming! And I think you've caught their fancy!" Lydia sucked in a surprised breathe and turned around to see a young man approaching. His brown hair was tied back and his eyes were hazel, more brown, but hazel nonetheless. Her heart stopped.

 

"A fine New Year's Eve it is, no?" said the young man, a small smile dancing across his face to a different beat than the dancers on the floor.

 

Lydia sucked in a breath before going through the standard moments, offering her hand out to him. As was customary, he bent and kissed her knuckles as she replied, "Ah, yes! Fine evening, yes."  There was a beat of silence after he'd straightened and then she quickly found her voice again. "Oh! Yes, my name is Lydia Boyce." She curtsied jerkily. Heavens, why was she so nervous? She could feel Nooroo practically vibrating against her skin as he giggled and twitched her nose in slight irritation.

Yo

The man didn't catch her nerves or irritation, and introduced himself in return. "James E. Dutcher. You are from Boston, I take it?" 

 

"Aye," Lydia answered. "And you? I don't recognize you or your family name."

 

James smiled at her, eyes crinkling pleasantly. "New York. I am here visiting my cousins until February."

 

Lydia nodded along with his words. "Who are your cousins?"

 

"The Ronshout family. You may know them."

 

She blinked in surprise, then let out a soft laugh. "Really? My sister is over by the band talking to Alexandra."

 

James laughed too. "Oh my, Boyce! I should have known." Diedrich was telling me HE was going to attempt to court the middle sister. Prudence is her name, yes?"

 

Lydia's jaw dropped and she swung around, scanning the crowd for Prudence and Alexandra, but they were gone now. "Really? Mr. Ronshout is after my little sister?" She laughed. "Good luck to him. Prudence is a fiery girl; she won't be won over easily."

 

James laughed. "So I've been told."

 

Lydia hummed, suddenly not knowing what to say, looking down at her hands as she twiddled her thumbs. James spoke again, hesitant this time. "Miss Boyce, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

 

Her eyes shot up to meet his, and out of ever growing habit, she focused her empathy on the young man in front of her. He was nervous, she realized. Very nervous. She sucked in a deep breathe, realizing she was nervous, too. Then she smiled. "Of course." A grin split Jame's face, and he offered her his arm which she accepted daintily. They spun into the crowd and laughed as they moved together, the band playing a lively, happy tune.

 

As the night drew on, and the midnight hour approached, Lydia and James still stuck by each other. They'd bumped into Hester once as they danced and she turned around to face her sister with wide eyes. She gave them a bright smile and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. Lydia sent her a death glare, but James just chuckled brightly and swung them back into the crowd.

 

Finally, the two went their separate ways after Diedrich sought out his cousin to let him know Alexandra wanted to return home, promising to keep up correspondence. And as he left, Lydia got the strangest notion that she would be seeing and hearing from him plenty more.

 

And as the party-goers roared with excitement as the year 1774 was ushered in, Lydia pressed her back against the far wall and sighed contentedly. Nooroo gave the same sigh, at peace with what the near future held for his charge.

 

But even kwamis can't truly see what's coming.


	7. Entry 7; 1774: The Letter & A Woman's Woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys! How did you all enjoy the Christmas Special?  
> Let me tell you, dabbing Santa made me laugh so hard I almost choked on my orange juice.  
> Anyway, what I have for you this time is a shorter chapter, but very character driven nonetheless.  
> MORE USE OF THE MIRACULOUS IS COMING I PROMISE! I JUST NEED TO GET TO THE WAR!  
> Enjoy! And I'll see you at the bottom!
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

_April 3, 1774_   
_Boston, Massachusetts_

  
_My darling Lydia,_

_I may call you that, surely? We have been in constant correspondence since my departure in cold February and prior to that. I also do not make secret my affection for you and your family, though for you in particular am I most fond._

_I have heard news of my cousin asking for Prudence's hand in marriage. I am pleased to hear that she has accepted. I will be returning to Boston with my family to attend the ceremony in June, and while I am there, I intend to ask your father for your hand, if you so desire. We have discussed this rather openly in our prior correspondence and you know that I truly do love you, and you me._

_This would also mean, however, that you would come home to New York with me, though you have expressed that you've wanted to go, so perhaps this burden will not lay as heavy on your heart as I worry it may. But we may talk of this more deeply later on._

_Give my love to your parents and to young Rufus who you've told me is growing up rapidly. I cannot wait to see you again, and I look forward to your next letter._

_Yours,_   
_James E. Dutcher_

_March 27, 1774_

  
Lydia clutched the letter with both of her hands, the paper crinkling under her grip. Nooroo hovered just behind her, reading over her shoulder.

"Nooroo," she breathed, eyes watering. "He intends to marry me. He wants to marry _me_!"

Nooroo zipped down in front of his chosen's face, watching a toothy grin split her face in half, eyes twinkling with tears of joy. "I'm so happy you're happy, Miss Lydia!" He exclaimed, wings fluttering.

Lydia flung herself back onto her bed with a squeal. "I'm not happy!" she cried. "I'm overjoyed!"

The kwami beamed, hugging the brunette's cheek as a small tear of glee splashed on his head. "I know," he giggled.

Lydia scooped him up in her hands and spun around the room, laughing. It had been four months since she and James had met, and every week since they'd been in contact wether in person or by letter. Also within that time, Diedrich had asked Prudence to marry him, and she had accepted with a smile. Everyone was happy as could be.

But now Lydia had just gotten a whole lot happier.

Despite the sour mood that had fallen over most of the colony when the Boston Port Act had been passed three days prior in retaliation against the destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor, the spark of revolution and outrage had grown ever stronger. There was word of more laws that would be passed. At that thought, Lydia's heart clenched, but it was quickly lightened with another glance at the letter.

She tucked Nooroo into her dress folds, tearing open the door and racing down the hall to Hester's room. When her little sister heard the news, the two girls shrieked and spun around the room together. Then, they rushed to tell Prudence. The middle sister was sitting in her room, looking out the window; she didn't turn when the door opened.

"Prue!" Hester exclaimed jubilantly, and Lydia giggled as Prudence whipped around to face them, clearly startled. Overwhelmed by her own happiness, she barely registered the pangs of greif she was picking up off of her sister. "Lydia's getting married, too!"

"He hasn't even asked Father yet," Lydia corrected Hester, ruffling her hair fondly.

She saw Prudence swallow, and that's when Lydia noticed how puffy her eyes were. But the brunette smiled widely and hugged Lydia tightly. "I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed, kissing her on the cheek as they pulled apart. "You love him?"

The question was so innocent, but Lydia could feel the agony behind her words. Why was she so sad? But she nodded. "So much." And it was true. She'd fallen head over heels for James, truly and absolutely. It was almost overwhelming.

Prudence nodded and squeezed her hand. "I'm glad that you're happy."

Lydia paused, glancing down at Hester. She'd grown so much...she hated to pull this card. "Hester, could you give me a second with Prue? Then we can go tell mother." Hester furrowed her eyebrows but nodded, leaving the room. Lydia turned to Prudence again who'd sat back down by the window. "What is it?"

Prudence didn't look away from her view. "What do you mean?"

"Are you okay? You seem sad."

She shrugged. "I've seen better days."

Lydia, put her hand on her sister's shoulder; Prudence flinched. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please. I want to help.”

Prudence curled her lip. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Lydia tried again. “Is it something to do with Diedrich? The wedding?”

This time, Prudence gave a weak shrug. “Maybe,” she muttered, crossing her arms tightly. Lydia said nothing after that, instead choosing to rub her sister's back. Then a thought occurred to her that hadn't before. Nooroo shifted his weight against her chest, encouraging her to ask it. Like he knew the answer.

"Do you love him?" Prudence tensed and Lydia felt a slow wave of dread roll off her like a wave slapping against the shore. There it was. "Ah....I see...." She paused. "Is it that there's someone else?"

She whipped around, eyes wide. "You can't tell him, Lydia! Or anybody! Our family would be shamed and so would her kin, and I—"

Lydia blinked in confusion as she cut off Prudence. " _Her_? I thought we were talking about Diedrich or another man."

Prudence shut her mouth tightly, eyes growing wary. "Y-Yes. That's what I meant. _His_." But it wasn't what she meant. Lydia could feel the inner turmoil, and if she was Monarch right then, she could have gotten the whole picture, every piece in place. But she just didn't understand.

So she settled for a gentle, "If you need to talk, please talk to me. I don't want to see you suffer."

Prudence sighed, opened her mouth to say something more, then shut it. Her little sister took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "Don't worry so much about me. Diedrich is a good man, as is his family; you know that. Let this day be  _yours_. You have found happiness. Do not let my misgivings cloud your sunny sky."

Lydia felt her own heart clench. Even if she didn't understand exactly what her little sister was saying to her, she understood that her Prue was in pain. And that hurt more than anything. Lydia wrapped her arms tightly around Prudence, and Prudence held her in return.

And so they there sat for many minutes, one doing her best to comfort, the other doing everything in her power to suppress the emotions that she knew would ultimately destroy her family's name if they were ever spoken aloud.

Nooroo knew this, too, as much as it hurt him to admit. In this time, in this world, poor Prudence's happiness would never come to pass. And even Lydia couldn't fix it. Nooroo shrunk down against his chosen's breast, a small frown upon his face. These humans were fighting for freedom, but were they ever _truly_ free?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....okay. So since we really won't be visiting Prudence's POV and since she'll never actually say it, I will.  
>  Prudence is not in love with Diedrich because she is in love with Alexandra (Diedrich's sister). When Alexandra and Prudence were seen talking, it was on behalf of Diedrich. However, during this exchange, Prudence fell head over heels for this petite blonde woman. But because she understands the risks of pursuing these emotions (both for the two families' names and wellbeing, and also for her own neck), she agrees to the marriage with Alexandra's brother instead.  
> sO NOW YOU KNOW.  
> I also can understand why some of you may be thinking "Wow, Lydia and James are moving fast." But that was often how it went in this time period.  
> You wanna know what else happened during that time period? Sickness. No one is spared guys so get ready to wave goodbye to some established characters within the next few chapters.
> 
> Until next time!  
> Kisses (for real this time),  
> Marshmallownose


	8. Entry 8; Something Old, Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!  
> Happy New Year! Can you believe 2017 is over? I'm part relived, part dreading the rest of this year, though I'm not upset 2016 is over.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter took me so long because I was resEARCHING COLONIAL WEDDINGS GUYS THERE IS SO LITTLE INFORMATION!!!!! I'm trying to make this as accurate as possible and keep it moving along, so bear with me. A lot of things happen in the chapter so get ready for a clusterfuck.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

  
_June 18, 1774_   
_Boston, Massachusetts_

One day. One day till the wedding between Diedrich and Prudence. The whole house was buzzing with activity. The wedding was to be held in the families' parish located quite a ways away from each respective home. Lydia was already dreading the almost half hour walk from her house to the Old South Church. The trip was made every Sunday, but no one really liked trekking all the way there. Lydia hoped there would be a carriage.

But regardless of the transportation uncertainty, the two families were all in an excited state. Lydia's mother was bustling around the kitchen with the help, preparing a massive amount of food for the wedding feast, and her father had been jittery with pleasure that his daughter was to be married. Hester was excitable as ever, and even little, five-year-old Rufus was constantly running around, quite the curious fellow indeed.

The only three members of the household who weren't animatedly buzzing around were Nooroo, Lydia, and the bride herself. Lydia had been in a strange state of glee for her own nuptial affairs and pain for her sister's unhappiness; Nooroo had been upset mostly because Lydia was upset, but his little heart did go out to his charge's sister. Prudence, however, had barely left her room in the months following the proposal, only coming out to eat and for the occasional visit to the Ronshout's home near the harbor. Now, with only two days till the wedding, Prudence hadn't even poked her head out. This was due to the final touches on her wedding gown. She'd wanted her older sister in with her while the seamstresses finished fitting it, and Lydia had gladly obliged.

There they stood, four women and one kwami hidden in his usual spot in the folds of his chosen's ruffles. Prudence was stood atop a box of sorts while the two seamstresses—a kindly old woman by the name of Madame Farindon and her bright-eyed, young apprentice who happened to be Hester's good friend (and by extension Prudence's and Lydia's friend), Susanna—drew the needle and thread through the bodice. The dress itself, Lydia had noted, was a rather dark biege and embroidered with a floral pattern; it was quite lovely and suited Prudence well. Prudence herself, though, looked miserable. She felt miserable, too, and it made Lydia dizzy. She'd long since stopped trying to find out exactly what was truly eating at her sister, resigning herself to the fact that it wasn't her place to know.

"My dear, you look beautiful," Madame Farindon commented, straightening from her hunched position over the dress. "Mr. Ronshout is indeed a lucky man to have snagged such a lovely flower such as yourself."

Prudence's smile was stiff as she replied, "Thank you, Madame. I am quite lucky to have snagged him."

If Lydia didn't know how painful the words were, she would have laughed aloud at her sister's polite tone. Susanna did laugh, a pleasant titter that lit up the room. Lydia's eyes fell on the blonde, recalling that her mother had succumbed to consumption only a month prior. When she reached out with her empathy, Lydia sensed the dull pain behind the young girl's happiness for the Boyces. She touched the brooch absentmindedly, wondering why all she ever seemed to sense nowadays was hurt.

Nooroo wanted to tell her that that was almost all any Butterfly of his _ever_ felt, but he didn't have the heart to. She'd find that out soon enough, anyway.

"Indeed, sister," Lydia managed to say, and Prudence's eyes flickered toward her looking almost surprised to see her there. "You look beautiful in that gown. But I'd say you look better in a _shorter_ dress."

Prudence gave a snort, showing a little of her old self. "Really? You should see me when I'm just in my undergarments." She struck a little pose, and Lydia was glad to notice that a small wave of mirth rolled off Prue, however fleeting. But it was gone a moment later, replaced with a twinge of sheepishness when Madame Farindon let out a soft choking noise of disbelief. Susanna was trying to hold back a guffaw, and the older women looked as though she wanted to say something, but Lydia cut her off quickly.

"You know, Madame," she interjected, shooting a half smile at Prudence whose cheeks had flushed pink, "you may need to start looking into wedding gowns for me."

The woman's eyes lit up with a creative hunger, abandoning whatever comment she was about to make on Prudence's raunchy declaration. "Really now?" she purred in the way that she always did. "It wouldn't happen to be that Mr. Dutcher who arrived in town yesterday for the wedding, would it."

Lydia blinked. "How did you know?" she returned, a small laugh creeping into her voice.

Madame Farindon shrugged, and Susanna piped up with, "No news travels faster than that which Mrs. Boyce knows." Lydia chuckled at the mention of her mother whose lips were quite loose. "She told us James Dutcher had expressed interest in you." Susanna looked up at Prudence, finishing her last stitch. "Isn't it wonderful? You'll _both_ be married into the same family!"

Lydia spared a glance at Prudence; her moment of spunk had disappeared and her little sister once again looked so very tired. "Aye," replied the bride. "We will both be married."

Lydia's heart squeezed and so did little Nooroo's.

***

_June 19, 1774  
Boston, Massachusetts_

The small congregation was bubbling with mirth for the couple that stood upon the alter. Lydia stood up front nearest to her sister, Hester practically vibrating at her other side. Though she couldn't see her face at their present angle, Prudence looked like a vision when the light hit her dress, the biege looking like gold. Diedrich looked as he always did: gentlemanly. The two were knelt before the officiator as he dictated the matrimony.

The heat was stifling; Lydia blocked out the other guests' emotions to the best of her ability, trying to focus on the service. As the officiator preached on, Lydia caught James's eye; he was glancing at her every once in a while. They locked gazes, and Lydia flushed. Each family was sat in the front row of the church on their respective sides, but she and James had been appointed maid of honor and best man respectively. Just next to Hester was Alexandra Ronshout, and James Dutcher was just behind Diedrich. The bride and groom didn't obstruct Lydia's view of her James. _Her James_. It made her giddy.

They were still stealing glimpses of each other when Diedrich and Prudence rose for the wedding vows. Lydia snapped her attention to the altar as Diedrich began.

"I, Diedrich Ronshout," he proclaimed, voice strong, "take thee, Prudence Boyce, to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth." He held Prudence's gaze throughout his vows, and her sister took a shaky breath when it was her turn.

"I, Prudence Boyce, take thee, Diedrich Ronshout, to be my wedded _Husband_ "—a slight grimace—"to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to..." She hesitated, giving Mr. and Mrs. Boyce an uncomfortable glance; Mrs. Boyce gave a _very_ firm nod. Lydia's heart squeezed again. "... _obey_ , till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

The officiator nodded kindly. "You may now place the ring on the bride's finger."

Diedrich displayed the ring, and Lydia blinked in surprise— he'd practically pulled it out of thin air. Though of course this wasn't true; she simply hadn't been paying him any attention, too focused on the dread radiating off of Prudence. If Lydia had been transformed, she would be able to do something...maybe alleviate some of her sister's apparent misery. But she wasn't transformed, and, as Nooroo always told her, forcing people to feel things well only hurt them more— whether the emotion be good or bad was irrelevant. The Butterfly was supposed to inspire, not manipulate. She watched, feeling Prudence's helplessness stabbing at her gut as sharply as a knife. Or maybe a bayonet. It didn't really matter.

"With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." Diedrich slipped the wedding band on Prudence's finger, and it was done. As the walked back down the aisle, the wedding party following behind in their orderly fashion while the guests clapped and cheered, Prudence's emotions shifted to something that cracked Lydia's heart right in two:

Dull hopelessness.

***

_June 20, 1774  
Boston, Massachusetts_

The party was still going on outside when she and James came up for air, tucked away inside the most private place they could find.

The wedding feast was to go on for one more day after that day, though the twenty-first was to be more for family; the festivities hadn't yet stopped.

It was official, though they had yet to announce it, that Lydia and James were betrothed. As she drew her fingers through his long, untied hair, drawing him in for another deep kiss, Lydia let her mind reach back to when James had first breached the subject with her father that morning.

_Mr. Boyce sat at the one end of the table, opposite from James; his expression betraying nothing._

_Lydia was pressed against the wall just outside the door to the dining room, reaching out with the Butterfly's gifts and eavesdropping at the very same time, even if she wasn't able to hear much. Nooroo had offered more than once to phase through the door (she still found it incredible how he was able to do that) and relay the information back to her, but she had declined. She was twenty-two for Heaven's sake; she could snoop herself! Besides, it was too risky. If the Butterfly kwami got caught...._

_Lydia would never get married; she'd be_ dead _._

_That was a struggle she had, a difficult position she was put into. Was she to tell James her secret? She rubbed the camouflaged brooch pinned to the center of her bodice's neckline. Lydia had managed to keep her Miraculous, kwami, and now nightly escapades a secret for five years, the closest time being when Rufus had tottered into her room, complaining of a nightmare while she'd been detransforming. But he'd been only a second too late. The only scare—the only time—when she could have been compromised was by her little, baby brother._

No _, she decided._ James will know when he is ready to know....also after the marriage has lasted for quite some time _._

_Nooroo agreed._

_She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn't even thought to be monitoring the glee from James sweeping around her until the dining room door was burst open and her newly betrothed was spinning her around in his arms. Lydia let out a shriek of surprised laughter as she was spun, Nooroo having had the good sense to hide amongst her petticoats before he was spotted. Mr. Boyce appeared in the doorway behind James, and for the first time in a while, her father smiled full force._

_It was a pure happiness, the weight of her secret and the pain of her sister lifted away on a warm summer's breeze..._

That was then. This was now.

Only a few hours later, and the couple had already slunk off to go satisfy some of their... _needs_. Nothing too risqué, but a little passion never killed anyone, right? Hopefully no one was looking for them.

Her mouth met his in a way that suggested he tasted better than any food at the dinner, anyway, and Lydia was pleased to note that she'd sent a wave of what could be described as lightning bolts coursing through him. It was even better because she felt it too; it left her dizzy.

Even with all the problems that her country and her family face, and all the weight threatening to crush her into the ground, and the fact that she would soon be leaving her home—her Boston—behind, everything was starting to feel right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. This is bad.  
> I plan angst (or at least the beginnings of angst) coming up hopefully in the next chapter so brace yourselves, kids.
> 
> Kisses again,  
> Marshmallownose


	9. Entry 9; Monsieur Quincy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while! School's been nuts!  
> I hope you enjoy the latest update. It's a little short, but I hope it works out. Next chapter may be a little bit of a time skip, but you're used to it by now.
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

_November 23, 1774_   
_Boston, Massachusetts_

***

Lydia was at the piano again, plunking away at the keys while Hester hummed along, her own fingers moving in a steady rhythm with a needle and thread. Mrs. Boyce was also embroidering, sat beside her youngest daughter, occasionally making a comment about the Hester's stitching. Rufus was crawling underneath the piano, giggling. Mr. Boyce was at work. Prudence lived with Diedrich, now, and lastly, Nooroo was left in Lydia's chambers to eat away at the berries she could find for him.

Lydia stopped playing as a small hand tugged on her dress, ducking her head under the instrument until she was nose to nose with Rufus. He grinned at her. "Well, what are you doing under here?" Lydia asked gently. Her little brother's eyes twinkled.

"It sounds better down here," he replied. It always surprised Lydia how much her sibling had grown, how much he'd mastered. His speech was coming along wonderfully, much better than the garbling she was used to.

"Does it, now?" She offered him a hand and Rufus took it, crawling out from beneath the piano. "Well, I think you'll find it sounds much better up here."

Lydia helped Rufus scramble up onto the piano bench and allowed him to plink haphazardly along with her melody.

"For heaven's sake; if you're going to let him play, teach him to play _well_ ," clucked Mrs. Boyce, not looking up from her embroidery.

Lydia ducked her head sheepishly, guiding her little brother's fingers to a little diddy she'd heard one night when she was out on the rooftops as Monarch.

She was always getting better at this Miraculous business. Just last week she'd stopped two petty crimes and one crime of arson. People were still abuzz about the seemingly magical woman who was acting as vigilante. Some said she was a fairy or a seraph, others called her an angel sent from Heaven. Others still called her a heathen sent by Lucifer to sway the hearts of the Children of God. Lydia wasn't particularly fond of _those_ people. Damn Puritans.

In any case, in only a few month's time, James was to return to Boston to be wed and her family was buzzing with the knowledge that their eldest daughter would soon be married. Lydia felt bad, though, leaving Hester behind. She would miss her baby sister, but she knew she'd be alright. Hester was always fine.

Standing up from the piano and lifting Rufus up off the bench, Lydia gave a contented hum. "I'm going to go get some air," she reported.

***

Nooroo poked his head out from the bulk of his chosen's loose hair at the shoppe they'd stopped in front of. Lydia was staring at it, eyes narrowed and fingering her brooch absently. It had been five years since she'd even thought of returning to Monsieur Quincy's Antiques and Second-Hand Shoppe, but when she'd passed by it on her walk downtown, Lydia had to stop and consider entering. This is where she'd received the brooch—the weird man had sent her off with it. It still baffled her to this day.

Nooroo nudged her ear, and she snapped her attention to the purple kwami. "You should go in," Nooroo pressed, eyes bright. "Maybe you can find the answers you seek."

Lydia was mildly surprised at her kwami's words, but not that surprised. She'd gotten used to being an open book to the tiny, empathetic deity. "Perhaps," she murmured, taking a step towards the door. Before she could even touch the knob, the door swung open to reveal a very frazzled Monsieur Quincy.

"Oh," he said when he saw her standing outside his store. "You've returned. Come in, come in." Once they were inside, Monsieur Quincy gave her a quick glance over, noting the brooch pinned to the center of her collar. "How is little Nooroo? He's usually quite skittish, but I think you're enough to keep him calm."

As if he was being called to, Nooroo zipped out into the open and settled on Monsieur Quincy's now outstretched palm. "I'm fine, sir. How have you been?"

Monsieur Quincy chuckled wryly. "I think you know that quite well, Nooroo." He looked up at Lydia again. "I trust you also can tell how I've been."

Lydia shook off her unease at Monsieur Quincy's familiarity with Nooroo and cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Er, no, Monsieur. I'm not tapping into the, erm, powers at this moment."

The old man looked pleased with this. "Ah. So you've gained control of the empathy outside of the suit. Very nice."

Nooroo looked rather proud. "Yes. Miss Lydia is quite proficient with her development. She's no longer my little caterpillar— she's a butterfly if I've ever seen one."

Lydia felt herself smile. Monsieur Quincy smiled, too, then coughed. "Nooroo chose well with you, I think. You have a powerful spirit."

Lydia pursed her lips. "You don't think it strange that I am a woman? Many do."

Monsieur Quincy cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at Nooroo. Lydia took this time to reach out with the empathy she'd gained outside the Miraculous, expecting to be hit with well hidden disdain or irritation that Nooroo had picked a lady over other suitable gentlemen, but was surprised to find that Monsieur Quincy was sincere in his statements but also seemed rather sad.

"What is going on here?" Lydia blurted out before she could clamp her lips shut, immediately reigning in the tendrils of empathy that still were poking at the Frenchman.

The old man's eyes shot to hers, and he chuckled, a cough rattling the air. "I suppose I should explain," he sighed, placing Nooroo on one of the shelves. "I was once just like you. I lived in Paris all my life...until one day my family sent me away urgently. I did not know why. I was sixteen. Several days prior they had sent away two items of jewelry to a family in China, the Fu family: a necklace of a fox tail and a comb of a bee. They seemed very tense about the whole thing. At the harbor before I boarded the ship, they pressed a parcel in my hand, and told me not to open it until I was safe in the new world.

"I did as I was told and waited till I had docked in Boston Harbor before opening the parcel." Monsieur Quincy sighed deeply, and Nooroo looked remorseful. "Inside was that very brooch you are wearing."

Lydia's hand flew instinctively to the Butterfly Miraculous; she could feel her heart hammering. "Your family gave you the Butterfly Miraculous?"

Monsieur Quincy let out a short burst of laughter, then he coughed heartily for a minute. "Sorry, old lungs." He waved his hand dismissively, but, with a glance a Nooroo, Lydia saw his face twist with worry. "But you call it the Butterfly? I was always under the impression it was the Brooch of the Moth. I suppose it doesn't matter much what it's called—it doesn't diminish its power any depending on its name."

Lydia opened her palm, and Nooroo zipped to it, settling down. "You didn't answer my question, Monsieur," Lydia prompted.

The old man looked at her for a moment. "Was I not clear in my telling? Yes. They did give me a Miraculous. My parents each had a Miraculous themselves— the fox and the bee. At least, I can infer this was the case. I never got my answers. I wrote and I wrote, but..."

"They never answered," Nooroo finished quietly when it seemed Monsieur Quincy could not finish. Lydia understood immediately. Either they did not want him to know about their pasts, or they were dead. Neither seemed good.

The man took a deep breath and continued. "I did work here with the Miraculous. I fought in the French and Indian War— on the side of the French, of course....no offense."

"None taken."

"Ah yes, anyway, I soon retired it. I could not bear to see the brooch any longer, it reminded me of what I lost."

At this Nooroo bowed his head, and Lydia felt a pang in her chest. "I'm sorry," she murmured, rubbing a finger on the kwami's head. She was not sure who she was apologizing to.

Monsieur Quincy shook his head. "Do not be. For you are my successor, it seems. I trust you will do all that I could not."

A clock chimed in the back. The Frenchman sighed. "It is time for you to depart, Mademoiselle Boyce. I doubt we will cross paths again in this form, but I trust that I will soon see you again." He stepped forward and guided Lydia and Nooroo to the door of his shop. Before they left, Nooroo zipped back to his place on her shoulder, hidden by a blanket of dark hair.

Lydia didn't know what Monsieur Quincy meant by his words, but didn't ask. Perhaps he knew of her engagement and how she would be moving to New York with James. Yes, he would probably write to her. "Goodbye, Monsieur. Thank you," she bid as she stepped out into the street.

The man nodded his head and coughed again. "Thank you for your sacrifice." Then he closed the door.

***

That night, a new butterfly joined her swarm when Monarch went on her rounds above the rooftops. It settled on her shoulder and in her hair. When she returned to her bed chambers and asked Nooroo where the newest white butterfly had come from, his eyes were sad.

"Monsieur Quincy told you he would see you again, did he not?"


	10. Entry 10; Give Me Liberty...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia Boyce now is Lydia Dutcher. She and her husband bond over a marvelous speech by Patrick Henry, and Lydia recieved a letter from back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I've brought you yet another chapter of GML and, boy, is it a toughy. Fun, though!  
> I have been swamped with life, so it's a miricale this has been progressing as fast as it has been.  
> I'm also surprised that this fix has gotten any attention at all, and for those who like and comment, I love you. For those who simply pass through and read, I love you too!  
> Hopefully, there will be only a few more chapters in Act 1 before we get into the—you guessed it—long awaited Revolutionary War! I mean, 10 chapters and no ones even been remotely Akumatized. Don't worry. I'm saving the first for my favorite historical figure how should make an appearance around 1777 right in Dutchess County, New York. They're pretty young right now, but they are very important if not under appreciated.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Kisses,  
> Marshmallownose

_February 20, 1775_  
_Dutchess County, New York_

***

Lydia Dutcher sighed as she kneaded the dough, hands clamping down tightly on the thick gunk that would soon rise up to become a tasty (at least, she _hoped_ it would be tasty) loaf of bread.

Nooroo was doing the same with a tiny piece of dough Lydia had ripped off for him, the kwami's little nubs doing wonders for the soon-to-be bread.

It had been a month since her wedding, a month since she'd left Boston for her new home in New York, but it felt like decades since she'd last seen her family.

It wasn't that life was horrible—she loved her husband very much, and her mother-in-law, Anne Dutcher, was very kind, if not a bit eccentric. It was mostly that she missed her _own_ mother and father, and sisters and brother, and beautiful city.

Oh god, she missed her city. Nooroo assured her that the people of Boston would be fine without Monarch to look after them, but Lydia still felt an anxiety churning within her when she thought about it. The British were still occupying the area and it was only a matter of time before a real war broke out, most likely starting right in the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

She'd promised herself to make the trip and fight if a war broke out, but Nooroo advised against her actually engaging in combat.

"No," he had said sternly. "I've told you a million times: this Miraculous is a passive one. To fight physically using it would be suicide. We inspire, not destroy. _That_ is Plagg's job."

"We inspire," she mocked quietly under her breath as she slammed her hands down on the dough. She wasn't really mad at Nooroo, but if she had a gold piece for every time she heard him say something like that, Lydia would be richer than King George III himself.

Nooroo gave her a look. "I'm _just_ saying, Miss Lydia. The brooch is easily misused. I don't want you getting yourself killed or making any... _mistakes_."

Lydia scoffed. "I haven't even inspired anyone with the _Tiānshǐ_ before; it's been six years, and I haven't made an _Akuma_ yet, right?"

Nooroo's wings fluttered nervously at the word _Akuma_ , and he sighed. "You'll have to use the _Tiānshǐ_ soon enough. I'm surprised you haven't yet."

Lydia shrugged, pounding the dough flat, then reshaping it. "It's not been necessary."

Nooroo looked ready to answer but another voice pierced the silence. "Lydia? Could you come here for a moment and help an old woman?"

Lydia whipped around. "Nooroo, hide!" she hissed before calling out to her mother-in-law, "Coming, Anne!"

Nooroo zipped behind her neck, hidden by her curtain of dark hair as Lydia trotted into the living room where the woman sat by the piano bench, scrutinizing the keys. "You called for assistance?"

Anne looked up, still squinting. "Yes, I did," she replied, beckoning her over. "You play well. I am having a few women over for a small gathering; I want _you_ to play while I host."

Lydia, knowing it improper to refuse, and not really minding the task at all, bobedience her head. "Of course, Anne. What day and time so I might prepare?"

"A week's time I would say. Perhaps Tuesday of next week."

Lydia nodded her consent. "Perfect, Anne. Anything else?"

"I hope you're not bothering my wife with your foolish requests, Mother," came James' voice as he burst through the door and into the living room.

Anne looked at him incredulously. "They aren't _foolish_ , James. Don't disrespect me!"

Lydia laughed as James quirked an eyebrow. "You aren't deny you're bothering Lydia, though."

"She's not bothering me at all, James," Lydia retorted, reaching up to give the man a kiss. He returned the peck quickly. "How was work?"

James was an artist— a rather good one at that. He wasn't into portraits, however, choosing to focus on landscapes. Their hone was full of them, finished and unfinished; the household members were okay with this, especially Lydia and Nooroo. It was rather nice to have such emotional, inspiring masterpieces strewn about.

"Work was wonderful. Do you remember the Dutch countryside I was working on?" Both women nodded. "I finished it this morning and by afternoon," he paused for dramatic effect, " _it sold_."

Anne grinned, eyes crinkling. "That's wonderful, son. Did you sell anything else?"

James nodded. "Aye. A few others." He held up a small bag of money which he clinked around. "All in a days work."

Lydia stood from the bench. "Aye, indeed. I have to finish making my bread. Supper won't be long, but the bread may have to wait till tomorrow."

James feigned disappointment. "Oh dear— the only thing I was looking forward to all day was your bread. I suppose now I'll just have to languish mercilessly in this breadless place we call Hell."

Anne laughed as Lydia gave him a light smack, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Watch it, or you'll get nothing," she snorted, whirling back into the kitchen.

Once they were out of sight from the living room, Lydia lifted Nooroo from behind her hair and returned him to his small loaf. "Let's get baking shall we?" she prompted, forming her dough into what could have been a loaf of bread, but could have also been a lump of sadness. Either way, it would taste good....hopefully.

* * *

 

_March 27, 1775,  
Dutchess County, New York_

***

Lydia rolled her eyes fondly at Anne and her small gathering of other Dutchess County women as they tittered over their embroidery, gossiping about neighbors, about revolutionaries—anything and everything. The Butterfly holder's fingers danced across the piano keys, plunking out a smooth melody as the women chattered.

This had been the sixth gathering Lydia had played at for her mother-in-law; she didn't mind. It was simply something she did nowadays. Nooroo was upstairs in her and James' (though he was not present at the time) shared quarters snacking on small berries she'd been able to procure, probably having a grand ol' time.

She'd received a letter in the post that morning, but had had no time to open it. It was from home, however, and it warmed her heart to receive correspondence so soon. She often wondered how Prudence was fairing in her marriage—hopefully she'd learn to love her husband. And little Hester, how was she? It was almost the time that their mother would be pushing her to marry. Hopefully she would end up with a sweet young man who would be able to match her bubbly, lively personality.

The brunette was removed from her thoughts by the polite clapping of the ladies in the sitting room, and she realized she'd finished the song. Lydia giggled and dipped her head to the women. Suddenly the door burst open, and James came striding in, newspaper in hand.

"Love, come look at the paper! They've published Mr. Patrick Henry's speech! It is truly moving, I say, truly!" James urged. "Mother, _ladies_ ," he greeted a moment later, as if seeing them for the first time. The women giggled. "I'm only going to borrow your pianist for a moment."

Mrs. Abigail Ludington, one of their neighbors, gave a small laugh. "Of course," she cooed at the same time Anne flashed her son a frown.

"James, how many times must I tell you _not_ to interrupt my parties?" Anne tsked, but she nevertheless excused Lydia from the room.

Lydia and James had found quite quickly after they'd married, that they both shared quite a passion for revolution, and anytime either had heard even a whisper of new news or gossip, they shared it immediately. This, apparently, was one of those times.

James thrust the local newspaper into her hand and pointed at the first page. Eagerly, Lydia scanned the speech, feeling her spirits raise and her adrenaline pumping. She reached out with her empathy and was pleased to note James felt quite similar. Then, her eyes caught on the last words: _"...but as for me, **give me liberty, or give me death!** "_

Her heart swelled and she felt something stir and boil in her chest. James must have noticed her puff up, because he broke the silence excitedly, completely ignoring the awe in his wife's eyes. "It's marvelous, is it not?"

Lydia could only nod.

James gringed, turning to the dining table where Lydia had laid out the mail. "Oh, Lydia, you have a letter from Boston," he alerted her. Shaking herself from her starstruck daze, Lydia nodded quickly, tossing the paper onto the table, her mood still inflated from reading the speech.

"Oh, yes! I almost forgot. I'll read it now, before I go back into the sitting room." James handed her the envelope and she broke the seal and slid out the paper.

She read it over only once, letting the letter slip from her hands as she dropped to her hands and knees. _Impossible_. James immediately snapped into action, dropping down next to his wife.

"Lydia? _Lydia?_ What is it?"

She looked up at him, face pale and brown eyes wide. _Not true._ Lydia pointed to where the letter fluttered down onto the floor. _Not her._ James scrambled to pick it up, and began to scan the letter frantically. He need not have read very far.

_Darling Lydia,_

_I hate to ask this of you, as I know you are living your life in the company of the Dutcher family, but you must come home as soon as your able. Your little sister, Hester has taken terribly ill..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So wow, um, I really wanted to make the ending of this chapter more horrifying, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> It'll get there. Sorry Hester, but you've got some life left in you, baby girl!  
> ALSO I have added something that is historically inaccurate for the sake of a shameless plug. There were no know publications of the Give Me Liberty, Or Give Me Death speech until the 1800s. I just really wanted her to come into contact with it. Another tidbit you should know is that the speech was originally given on March 23rd, 1775.
> 
> Kisses again,  
> Marshmallownose


	11. Entry 11; 1775: ...Or Give Me Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we say goodbye, but in doing so we sort of say hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh golly that one is long and trying. I was thinking about spreading this part out into two chapters, but in the end I found it to be much better to put it all in one.  
> This is rather angsty, but it's only the beginning of a long war. I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Kisses, Marshmallownose

 

 _April 2, 1775_  
_Boston, Massachusetts_

Afternoon sun cut through the small opening drawn curtains, turning that white sheets of the bed a golden-yellow. Hester coughed violently, cocooned in her pile of quilts, burning up yet shivering all the same. Lydia hovered close by while her mother dabbed at the sick young lady's forehead, sighing shakily as she tried to hold back a sob.

Nooroo pressed close to her neck, hidden by the dark curtain of her hair, trying to give as much comfort as he could. There wasn't much he could do now in the company of Mrs. Boyce, but Nooroo willed one of the white butterflies out of the Miraculous while the other women in the room were preoccupied to nestle comfortingly in his charge's hair.

This butterfly was not one of the ones that was created with him, Nooroo noted. The butterfly was one of his older charges, one who suffered greatly in his life, one who was plaguaged with ailments, but never used the power of the Miraculous to help himself. Instead, he found people who longed to help others who suffered and created Champions who he blessed with powers of healing to save many others. This spirit was the perfect one to give Lydia a sense of comfort, however small. This butterfly died deserving the highest of honors, but he was remembered by none by Nooroo.

Funny, how charges were never the ones whose stories were told. Only the Ladybugs, only the Black Cats were revered.

Nooroo was startled out of his thoughts by a finger gently rubbing his head, and looked up through the curtain of Lydia's hair to look at his charge. She was not looking at him, but he knew she noticed the butterfly's presence.

Mrs. Boyce straightened up from Hester, and turned to face her daughter, eyes wet. "Lydia, darling, could you watch over your sister for a little while? I must attend to Rufus; Prudence is on her way with Diedrich." Lydia nodded stiffly, removing the finger from her kwami's head. Mrs. Boyce crossed the room to her and planted a soft kiss on Lydia's forehead. "Please be strong; she is frightened and needs all the strength we can give her."

Lydia nodded again, standing still until her mother had left the room. Then, she allowed the tendrils of empathy to branch off of her, reaching out to Hester. She felt nothing but fear, pain, and resentment. What she resented, Lydia didn't know, but she reigned in the power, and crossed the room to Hester's beside. The happy, energetic girl she'd known was gone; Hester was a dying _woman_ , now.

"Hester," Lydia whispered. Hester cracked open her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Hester didn't even try to sit up. "Sick, what do you think?" she coughed out. "Lydia, am I going to die?"

So abrupt, so hard to answer. "I don't know, Hester. I don't know."

Hester shut her eyes tight as another coughing fit seized her. Lydia reached for the handkerchief, already stained with blood, and held it to her sister's lips. From his hiding place, Nooroo winced.

When the fit had passed, Hester looked even more drained. "Lydia, can you help me? I need something to distract me for a while."

"I don't have a piano in here with me, I don't know what you want me to do," she replied gently.

"Anything. I can't just keep staring at the ceiling. Oh, please tell me a story, do a dance— anything."

Lydia took a deep breathe, and without warning, reached up and scooped Nooroo into her hands, placing him down on the bed. Nooroo let out an alarmed squeak and Hester's eyes widened. " _What is that?_ " Hester breathed, struggling to sit up before erupting into coughs.

Before Nooroo could open his mouth, Lydia beat him to it. "This is Nooroo, the kwami of the Butterfly Miraculous. You know the woman that would run around the rooftops, break up brawls, play tricks on the British?"

Hester blinked, mouth ajar. "That was _you_?" she squeaked. "What's a kwami? Oh! It's so cute! Can I hold it?" The excitement was too much for her, and Hester let out several more coughs, tiny blood splatters finding their home of the bedding. Lydia flinched away, but she could see the glow of awe in her sister's face once more; she didn't look as sick.

Nooroo noted this, too, and as much as he was worried about what this could mean for his chosen's identity, he couldn't help but comply. The young lady was dying, and if Nooroo could give the girl something to be happy about in her last days, he would gladly oblige.

"If you will, Miss," he began, settling in Hester's lap, "please call me Nooroo. I'm sure you have many questions, and I will be honored to answer them."

Hester looked more delighted than Lydia had ever seen her, and it made her heart break even more. She'd finally shared her secret with someone; how horrid that it would soon be a secret again. Hester was only 19. She didn't deserve this.

But Hester was happy for the moment, barely stopping her chatter and flurry of questions that both Nooroo and Lydia had to answer at a rapid speed to keep up with. That at least made it all a little more bearable.

"Can you transform for me?"

Lydia had been waiting for this question, and she glanced at Nooroo. He nodded, and Lydia turned back to Hester, a small smile dancing on her lips as she tapped her brooch with one hand, using the other to grasp her little sister's hand.

"Wings rise," she whispered. To Lydia's surprise, the transformation was slightly different than what she'd been used to. Instead of purple light, the white butterflies erupted from the Miraculous, covering her from head to toe. Then, in a more familiar manner, a lavender gleam flashed as the butterflies fluttered away from her, leaving Monarch in Lydia's place. " _Well, that was odd_ ," she muttered to herself, but Hester's eyes were blown wide with unbridled amazement as she stared at the white creatures that now covered the room.

"Whoa..." she breathed, a small rivulet of blood dribbling down her chin. "You look so beautiful, Lydia. What a beautiful pattern! Like a monarch!"

Monarch smiled, reaching up to make sure her mask was secure. "That's what I call myself when I'm transformed: Monarch. Like I said, Nooroo chose me to help us separate from the British when war breaks out." She let out a strained giggle. "So I played with a little something called irony."

Hester giggled back, then she sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I hope I get to see the liberation," she murmured quietly. Silently, Monarch willed the transformation away, catching Nooroo in her hands.

"So do I," Lydia sighed, reaching for the blood stained handkerchief to wipe away the dried and fresh blood from her sister's mouth. "So do I."

Soon after, Hester fell asleep, though it was restless indeed. Nooroo and Lydia sat silently for a few moments. Then, Lydia asked the question Nooroo had been dreading. "Is there _anyway_ I can save her?"

"There is, Miss Lydia," he began cautiously, "but it won't last. You'd have to create a champion that longed to and could heal people with your help. But healing a sickness is different than healing a broken bone. A sickness can and will come back even with a Miraculous' help. It would only prolong the inevitable."

Lydia looked upon her sleeping sister for a long moment, then let out a shaky breath. "Why was the transformation different?"

Nooroo' wings fluttered sadly, knowing she would dread the answer. "The danger is peaked for them. But now they're preparing for a new white butterfly to join them."

At this, Lydia let out a tiny, almost undetectable sob.

***

Prudence and Diedrich arrived almost ten minutes later, Prudence storming up the stairs and throwing open the bedroom door while her husband trailed uncertainly behind.

Lydia got up a abruptly and embraced her sister, holding her tight.

"How is she, Lydia? I came by two days ago, but Father said it got worse, and—"

"I just arrived this morning," Lydia cut her off, glancing back at the sleeping Hester. "I was able to talk with her some before she fell asleep, but..." She trailed off, swallowing the lump in her throat. Prudence looked ashen, but unsurprised.

"I see," she murmured, moving past Lydia to sit by the bedside.

Lydia flashed a desperate look at Diedrich who merely shook his head. "You know how she gets," he murmured under his breath once Lydia was close enough to hear him. "If Prudence doesn't want to talk, she simply won't talk."

"Aye," Lydia replied, "but this isn't something as simple as her clamming up on us; this is our bedridden sister she's worried about."

Diedrich placed his hand on Lydia's shoulder in what was an attempt to be a comforting gesture. "Of course, of course. It wasn't my intention to make the situation out to be less grave than it is." His gaze lifted over her head and landed on Prudence, his eyes full of worry and adoration, and Lydia was struck by how much this man loved her sister, even if her sister didn't love him in return.

It made her think of James back in New York and she felt her heart pang for him in longing. Nooroo was a wonderful comfort, but James always seemed to know how to ground her to a situation.

The hand suddenly lifted from her shoulder as Diedrich crossed the room to sit by Prudence's side, placing a comforting hand on her lower back. Prudence barely acknowledged him, lower her head in a quiet melancholy.

Unable to stand being in the room a moment longer, Lydia turned and left.

 

> ***

Monarch stood atop a rooftop overlooking the harbor. White butterflies perched around her and on her, finding space in her hair and on her shoulders. The wind was cold that night despite the warmth of the day, the breeze coming off the sea chilling the land long after the sun had set.

The rooftop figure sighed, running a hand through her dark hair, looking out towards the dark horizon, illuminated only by the moon and the occasional flash of the lighthouse on the water.

It was so quiet. Only a few people were on the streets at this hour; some saw her, some didn't. Those who did see her either called out to her and waved or shouted unrepeatable things.

She ignored most interaction, however, choosing to let the sound of waves lapping the hills of docked ships lull her into a sort of trance. The butterfly that had been Monsieur Quincy landed delicately on her cheek, breaking her gaze from the horizon as Monarch strained her eyes to look at him. The white creature waved his little arms at her almost as if he were saying, _It's okay, Mademoiselle. What will be, will be._

She relaxed, allowing the butterfly to stay perched on her cheek, returning her gaze to the sea.

There was nothing she could do to permanently save Hester, but Monarch had an idea as to how she may be able to make her sisters last days in this world a little better.

***

_April 9, 1775  
Boston, Massachusetts_

Hester clung to her sister's neck as she was carried across the rooftops, practically soaring.

Monarch clutched her sister like the precious cargo she was, surprised at how easy it was to carry practically dead weight as she sprinted and jumped high into the air.

Hester was getting worse—ashen and constantly coughing—and the doctors said it would not be long until the inevitable. So, being the vivacious young lady she was, Hester had immediately begged Lydia to take her out with her. Lydia had been apprehensive at first; she'd been planning to simply let Hester play with all the butterflies. But her little sister was persistent.

"Please! Oh, _please_ , Lydia!" she'd begged in between coughing fits. "I'm going to die anyway, so the least you can do is let me see the world from a vantage point I've never seen!" She tried to sound nonchalant, but the fact of the matter was that Hester was right; she was going to die— _soon_.

Eventually, Lydia had given in, and under the cover of dusk, she'd locked hers and Hester's chamber doors so no one could find them gone, transformed and carried Hester into the open air wrapped in a tight quilt.

Hester was enthralled by it all, the fresh air allowing her lungs reprieve as Monarch moved forward. A few butterflies landed on her and the 19-year old was delighted by their friendly behavior. They seemed to really like her!

Monarch giggled as Hester let out an excited _whoop_!, though was immediately concerned by the hacking that followed. The fit subsided however and all was once again right.

After sometime, Monarch sat Hester down on a roof, and settled in beside her, letting the transformation drop. She caught an only slightly tired Nooroo in her hands, and reached into her bag for a few berries which her kwami gratefully ate.

Hester looked content there on the roof, leaning her head back against the chimney and closing her eyes, her tangled blonde curls hiking up against the stone. The two sisters sat in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other's company. Then, Hester suddenly shot forward, eyes wide. Lydia jumped, and swung around to face the sick girl.

Hester was digging around in her quilt, evidently looking for something.

"I made something for you!" she explained, only stopping her search to cough twice in quick succession. "Aha! Here!"

With all the pride of a cat who'd just caught a particularly elusive mouse, Hester pulled a handkerchief out of the quilt. It was a plain white cloth, slightly wrinkled, but Lydia noticed it had a patterned stitched on it, the colors popping against the starkness of the piece.

Hester offered the handkerchief out to her and Lydia took it, examining the design. It was several flowers, all purple and blue. Fluttering around the flowers were silvery butterflies, each one almost invisible against the white cloth as they each checked out a different blossom. She also noted it was done with the same thread Lydia had given to her for Christmas almost two years prior.

Lydia clutched the handkerchief tightly in her hand, feeling a tear dribble down her eye, immediately chilled by the wind. "I'll treasure this for as long as I live," she told her sister. "Thank you."

Hester gave her a warm smile, eyes slightly sad. "Thank _you_."

***

_April 10, 1775  
Boston, Massachusetts_

Once Hester had been settled back to her bed, Lydia dropped her transformation and pulled up a chair to sit in until Hester fell asleep. Nooroo went and nestled close to the sick girl's neck.

Lydia grasped her little sister's hand and rubbed her thumb against the back of it. Hester gazed blearily up at her. "It's so amazing that my sister is a hero..." she breathed quietly; the night had really tuckered her out.

"I haven't done anything that makes me a hero, Hester," she whispered back, eyes flickering to Nooroo's wide open ones then back to Hester's paled face.

Hester giggled hoarsely, coughing violently—the blood was back. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Because tonight you really were mine."

Lydia smiled softly, squeezing her sister's hand tightly before letting go and allowing Hester her hand back. "Get some rest, sweetheart. I love you."

"I love you, too, Lydia," Hester replied, pulling the quilt closer to her chin and closing her eyes. She opened one quickly, and eyeballed the kwami by the base of her neck. "You, too, Nooroo!"

Nooroo chuckled. "I love you, too, Hester. Now it's time for bed."

Hester offered up a tired smile and closed her eyes, ragged breathing becoming rhythmic within a few minutes.

Lydia sat with her for several minutes, clutching the handkerchief and periodically glancing over to Nooroo who was also fast asleep, or at least was resting his eyes.

Soon enough, Lydia was overtaken by sleep herself, and relaxed into the chair.

She awoke sometime later to a light, tickly feeling on her hand. Blinking open her eyes, she saw a small white butterfly, practically glowing. It waved one little arm at her excitedly before flitting up and landing on her nose in a butterfly kiss. Then, it landed on the Miraculous pinned to her dress and disappeared.

A lump in her throat, she moved to rouse Hester, shaking her little sister hard.

Nothing.

The whole house came running at Lydia's screeching wails, knowing exactly what they would find.

Hester died that night, and without her, the family seemed so much smaller. Nooroo would never forget the raw pain in his chosen's eyes even though she knew Hester was still with her in a small way, he would never forget the agony he could feel rolling off the family as they rushed into the room to cradle the limp and cooling body of a child too young to die.

He'd felt it before many times, and the worst part was, he knew he would feel it again and again.

That was just the price a god had to pay.

 


End file.
